Of Love and Death
by POed-Paladin
Summary: Following the events of the Twilight Princess, the heroes must come to terms with who they no longer are and who they must become. Though a looming storm threatens to rob them of the luxury of time. Can they rise to the challenge or be swept aside?
1. Chapter 1

DISCLAIMER: The majority of these characters (Link, Midna, Zelda, Ilia, etc) are the intellectual property of Nintendo and are used here solely in a non-for-profit entertainment format.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: The events in this story take place shortly after the conclusion of the Twilight Princess, though in a world whose sequence of events is altered slightly from the canon and is far more mature and gritty than the original game. I will attempt to bring up planned deviations in the storyline as soon as possible though a few things will likely be missed and sneak up on the reader out of left field. I hope you enjoy.

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The lone rider's horse meandered its way along on the path that was carved through the surrounding forest by years of foot and horse traffic. Despite the fact that it was mid-day, shadows abounded along the path as the lush canopy of the trees above the singular traveler provided ample shade from the blistering heat of the sun burning in the skies above. The natural sounds of the thick woodlands along the sides of the path was its usual din of bird calls and small mammals skittering across the underbrush, but something distinctively man-made was also present. There was a slow but steady metal clank originating from the rider as the ornate hilt of his sword bumped against the frame of an equally well crafted shield as the horse took its slow steps. As the traveler passed through shafts of sunlight filtering down through the tree tops, a ray would occasionally glint off of the dull metal studs that were sparsely spaced at regular intervals on his muted green tunic or the short length of chain mail that protruded every so slightly from the bottom and shortened sleeves of the garment. The rider's arms were held slack just forward of the saddle's pommel, his leather gauntleted hands loosely gripping the reins of the mare. Despite the apparent lack of control over horse, the animal was still following every contour of the path, automatically making turns at intersections. A bystander might think that the traveler did not care what his destination was, but it was the furthest thing from the truth. The rider was well aware that his mare knew exactly where to go, it was a well traveled path for both the man and the beast. The traveler was grateful for the lack of required input though, it allowed him time to think. And the rider had much to think on.

It was difficult to accept that it was finally over. He'd spent the last few months of his life working to almost single handedly saved the realm as it were. A small snort of amusement escaped his lips. 'Saved the realm.' His accomplishments still seemed like a surreal camp fire story used to bewilder the village children. In retrospect, he was still amazed how he'd survived it all. Even with the help he had. A sense of disbelief translated into a shake of his head as he pondered the unorthodox traveling companion he'd had from the beginning of the whole ordeal. He'd remember that back before everyone started referring to him as 'the Hero of Hyrule', he was just 'Link'. A simple young man of 17 summers living in the small village of Ordon scraping out a living working as a ranch hand. He also had the additional responsibility, as did all men of age in the hamlet, of serving in the Ordon Militia. Though that in and of itself was a punch line all its own. The truth of the matter was that Link had been the only member of the militia that even bothered to train regularly, a fact that made him something of a local celebrity among the local children that watched him attack training dummies in complete awe. The rest of the village's population thought he was something of a novelty that simply didn't grow out of fairy tales of knights and dragons. Many thought he needed to slow down and enjoy life more, pointing out the amount of time he spent alone in the old watchtower that had been converted into a home. The chieftain though, Bo, simply chuckled away the rest of the villagers remarks, reminding them that it was simply in Link's blood.

It rang true enough though, considering his bloodline. His father, Marcus, had been the hamlet's constable for many years, keeping Ordon safe from predators and the occasional thief that would pass through the village. One day though, when link was 9 summers old, a small group of bandits tried to raid the village directly. Marcus stood his ground against the onslaught, felling all of the bandits before they could harm anyone and whose only damage was the torching the constable's own home. Unfortunately though, the last bandit was slain in what amounted to a battlefield suicide pact. Both his father and the last remaining bandit had been skilled swordsmen and Marcus decided to risk everything to keep the village from harm. He charged at the bandit without regard for his own safety, the two fighters running each other through. Link's head dipped slightly in melancholy reflection as he recalled watching the scene unfold from behind a fence post, cowering in the shadows with Irene, the mayor's wife. He remembered screaming out for his father when the sword pierced the man's chest. He'd quickly wormed his way out of Irene's grasp and darted to the side of his fallen father. He remembered his father's glazed eyes and the pink foam bubbling out of the corner of his mouth, the blood staining his teeth a tinge of bright red. Link threw his arms around his father neck and began to sob. He remembered his father never cried out though, instead he wrapped his arm around his son and weakly bade for the boy to look at him. Through the tears in his own eyes, Link saw the clarity in his father's eyes as he spoke his final words to his son. "It falls on you to protect them now my boy. I go to your mother and the Goddesses now. We will be watching. Make us proud and know that we will love you forever."

Coupled with the loss of his mother in bearing him, Link was left orphaned after his father's death. He had been taken in by Bo and Irene afterwards, raising him alongside their daughter Ilia for three years until Irene began to fall ill. Link confessed to Bo and Irene that he felt he was a burden and planned to leave. Bo would hear nothing of the sort though, asking what the village would do without its 'little constable'. The boy kept at the issue though, and in the end Bo agreed to have the men covert the unused watch tower into a house for the boy. Much to everyone's surprise though, instead of asking for assistance he began asking for work and quickly became self-sufficient. By day he did whatever job someone would pay him for and by night, he spent hours honing his craft with a blade. After Irene died, Ilia sought out further companionship from Link, the two becoming very close over the years. It was even through Ilia that he was eventually given steady work at ranch that Bo owned and 'frequently loaned' the mare he now rode on. A smile came to his face as his mind turned from the morose past and focused instead on how Ilia constantly reminded him that Epona was her horse, she was simply letting Link borrow the animal.

But of course his uneventful, and indeed the whole village's, life took a turn for the worse a few months ago when the village was attacked. Ilia and the other children of the village were kidnapped by foul creatures Link gave chase hoping to rescue them and instead wound up being whisked away on an insane journey to save the entire kingdom. The whole quest was still overwhelming to thing about, the sheer fact that half of the time he was trapped in the form of a wolf fuddled his mind every time he started to make sense of it all. If transformation wasn't enough of an oddity, he was paired most of the time with an impish shadow creature named Midna. The creature had started out unbearable and more than once Link wanted nothing more to do than to take advantage of his canine form and maul the snide, bratty goblin. Though as time and events put their partnership to the test, she slowly became less abrasive and he in turn began dropping his guard. The two formed a bond that can only come in risking one's lives together and they slowly became more cordial with one another. Then Midna risked her life to save his. The scene reminded Link far too much of his own father's death and he was determined to not lose someone else on his behalf. He'd rushed her to aid, and when she was healed, he counted her among friends from that point forward. Though Link's heart nearly broke once more when she was killed by Ganondorf. At least she appeared to have been killed. The sight sent Link into a rage, the fury pushing him over the edge and allowing him to gain the upper hand and best the evil mastermind that had engineered all the horrors that had befallen Hyrule in the past months. As the last of Ganondorf's life escaped him though, something happened. Link couldn't explain it but somehow, Midna rose from her seemingly mortal wounds, not only uninjured by in her true form, a humanoid woman not much different from Link in anything other than skin color.

After the battle, Link and the Hyrulian Princess, Zelda, had accompanied Midna to the far flung Gerudo desert. They'd traveled there in order to escort Midna, who was also a princess in her kingdom of Twili, a strange world that existed on the other side of the Mirror of Twilight, to the mirror that would take her back to her own realm. Much of the journey was in silence, though when pressed Midna stated that she had to hurry back to ensure that the curse was also lifted from her known people. Link had asked if she would return or if he could cross in her realm from time to time, not wanting to lose a good friend after all they'd been through. The twilight princess just gave a smile and assured Link that they would still see each other on a regular basis, any time either of them wished it to be so. He didn't press the issue at the time but he remembered thinking that her red eyes had a hint of sadness behind them as she smiled. When they reached the mirror, he and Princess Zelda had said their goodbyes, Midna offer them both an embrace as she said her goodbyes. The embrace among himself and Midna lasted somewhat longer, both he and the Twilight Princess seemingly afraid to let go. When she reluctantly withdrew her arms, she kissed him on the cheek, her warm lips pressing against the stubble on his face for much longer than a simple peck. Link was stunned by the action and left too dumbfounded to embrace the woman again or do much of anything else. She withdrew after a handful of long seconds, tears starting to pool up in the lower portions of her eyes. She quickly turned from his sight and threw her black hood over her long, lustrous red hair. She started to weakly mumble out something but stopped herself. Instead she opted to simply offer a curt 'See you later' before striding purposefully through the mirror. The distorting of the glass into a water-like surface was enough to break Link from his stupor and he quickly rushed towards it, calling out to Midna. As he reached the mirror though, it solidified half a heartbeat before it shattered into a million pieces not much bigger than a grain of sand. Even before some of the dust settled, a gust of window tore through the open air mirror chamber and blew the glinting remains of the mirror out over the desert sands.

The silence was almost deafening on the ride back to the castle, both himself and the Princess too shocked and confused over what had just transpired. When they reached the castle, Zelda extended her courtesies to Link. She offer him a warm bed, daily feasts, a servant to see to his every desire, any thing that could convince him to remain at the palace her right-hand man-at-arms. The much vaunted position of 'Guardian of Hyrule' was a unique position only during and following times of great unrest. It was appointed for life and was so uncommon, it wasn't unusual to have centuries pass between guardians being present in the royal court. Link thanked the Princess for her gracious offer but stated that he couldn't answer at the moment. It his head was still racing and the only thing we wanted was to take some time to reflect and relax. The princess understood his motivations and told him that the offer would always stand, and even if he declined, he would always be welcome at the castle. They said their goodbyes, the Princess likewise giving him an embrace and a peck on his cheek, though both seemed to be nearly expressions of thanks. Not the same unspoken subtext he'd felt from Midna performing the same gesture. Link rode off, Zelda still waving goodbyes as he left for Ordon, putting Epona into an easy trot.

Link snorted out a sound bore of amusement and disgust. He'd taken a long route back towards Ordon at a slow pace to give himself time to think and attempt to figure out a few things. But even as he finished crossing the sturdy rope and plank bridge that lead to the village, he realized that he'd just raised more questions.

He could make out the spire of his home above the underbrush in the distance, hear the rush of water coming off the short waterfall that ran along the side of the pond , and begun to smell the faint odor of families beginning preparations for their evening meals. A slight smile rose at the corners of his mouth as he let his sense take in the signs of home. He hadn't left the village much prior to that fateful day months ago but he had been coming and going much in the past few months and the familiar sights, sounds, and smells had become a point of comfort for him. It had become a symbol of what he had been fighting for. As he neared the clearing beside his home, he saw a few diminutive figures in animated motions around the clearing. The smile that had been tugging at the corners of his mouth now broke out in a full blown grin as he watched the village children playing at the base of his home. One young boy ran breathlessly to the opening of the path and happened to shoot a glance down the artificial canyon cleared out of the surrounding vegetation.

"Link!" The boy shouted out in joy as he eyes brightened further at the sight of the hero approaching down the path. The youth broke out into a full run towards the rider, another boy hot on his heels. Link brought Epona to an easy stop before swinging his leg over the front of the saddle and sliding off of the mare's back. He knelt down and made sure to brace himself for the collision that he knew was coming. He threw his arms wide but made sure to leave his joints loose and tightened his muscles.

"Kids!" Link shouted in a hearty return, one arm catching the fair-haired Colin, the other catching the dark haired Talo. With how fast they'd run into his arms, he was certain he would've been knocked on his rear had he not been prepared for the impact. Before he could say a word, the two boys of 12 summers began assaulting him with questions.

"Where'd you get to go this time?!" Colin asked as he withdrew from Link's arm and shot a starry eyed gaze up at him.

"What'd you get to kill there?!" Talo questioned, reaching to the hilt of the sword on Link's back and tugging on the weapon to indicate it.

"Come on! Tell us everything!" Colin pleaded, putting his hands together in a mime of a prayer.

"He'll tell us everything when he gets the chance!" A girl's voice called out a split second before a pair of hands appeared behind the two boys and grabbed one of each of their ears before twisting slightly. The two boys had sharp inhales as the pain hit them, the hands guiding them up and away from Link. As the youths were cleared from his view, he saw the slightly taller figure of Beth, the girl of fourteen summers trying to give the hero some breathing room.

"So," She started, locking her soft blue eyes on Link's. "What happened this time out."

"You can't have had much left based on what I've seen and heard about." A came younger but more firm and authoritarian voice. The hero glanced over and saw the small form of Malo standing a few feet back from the crowd along the shrub border of the trail. A slight chuckle escaped Link's lips. He didn't think he could ever get used to the boy of 10 summers that was wise and mature far beyond his years.

"You're right Malo." The hero confirmed. "It's over. Ganondorf is dead." The statement changed the entire air of the conversation. Gone was the excitement and playfulness. It was replaced with looks of bewilderments and mouths that hung open. There was a long silence before one of them finally spoke.

"Did you kill him?" Talo asked with a hard swallow.

"Yes. I did." Link responded in an even tone.

"Wicked." Talo replied in a bewildered tone that brought a shine to his green eyes.

"Are you okay?" Beth asked, her eyes searching him for wounds. "What about the Princess?"

"Who cares! " Talo interrupted. "He's here so he's okay. Question answered. So how'd you do it?!" The boy asked as the awe faded and was replaced by excitement once more. "Did you slash him like-" He started as he reached for the short sword at his hip. The blade was barely an inch out of the scabbard when the smaller but firm hand of his brother Malo clamped down on Talo's and jerked his sibling's hand down, sheathing the blade.

"Don't." The younger brother interjected. "You remember what Link said when he convinced the mayor that everyone including us should be armed."

"Talo," Link questioned in a scolding tone. "What's the first rule?"

"Do not draw steel until it is needed in the defense of yourself or others." Talo answered with his eyes locked to the ground at his feet, his tone becoming low with a hint of shame.

"Remember," The hero stated as he hooked a his forefinger under the boy's chin and brought his features into sight, locking his eyes onto the youth's. "You holding that blade is a promise to yourself and all those around you. It's not for play, or to intimidate, or to get what you want. It is a promise that you will defend and avenge until death."

"So," A new voice spoke in a soft tone. "Does that mean you're back for good now?" The children parted and Link's eyes saw the lithe form of Ilia standing in the middle of the path. A slight wind kicked up, ruffling the fabric of the white cotton shirt she wore and the short, dark blonde curls that framed her face and the warm smile that was spreading across it. Her soft emerald eyes were locked on his, a shine in them that told Link that he was her entire world at that moment. The hero rose up from the ground and began walking slowly over to the young woman of 16 summers.

"Looks that way." He answered as he closed the distance between them. "I will likely have to leave on occasion to assist the Princess but as far as a quest that drags me all over the realm and dodging death at every turn, I think that part's over with." He stopped mere inches Ilia and slipped his gauntleted hands into the gap between her slender arms and small waist, locking them behind her back and drawing her closer to him. "Is that acceptable to you?"

The young woman's response came back not with words but with actions as she brought her hands up to his neck, sliding them towards his spine then up into the short blonde locks on the back of his head. She brought his face closer to hers, the two feeling each other's warm breath as their lips met. Their eyes closed as their skin made contact, neither wanting to focus on anything other than the intimate moment they were sharing with each other. They held the kiss for along moment as they both forced their lips onto the other's, both longing to be as close as a person could be. Ilia slowly pulled her mouth away, tilting her forehead against Link's, neither bothering to open their eyes, and breathing deeply to catch the air that she denied herself in order to give a proper greeting to her friend, her hero, and her lover. "By the Goddesses I've missed you so much." She whimpered in a small voice, as she still drew her breath in deeply.

"I missed you too, more than you know." He agreed, content to live in the peaceful moment for as long as the two young lovers could manage. He barely noticed the voices and shuffling footsteps around him as he devoted his attention instead to all the details of his childhood love.

"Let's go." Malo ordered a firm voice, beginning to walk back towards the village. The two older boys were more than happy to agree, the questions they wanted to ask their larger than life hero now out of reach for would could easily turn into hours, if not days. Beth on the other hand, stood her ground, her starry eyed gaze locked on to intertwined forms of Link and Ilia. "That means you too, Beth." Malo called back over his shoulder.

"Fine." The older girl conceded. She looked back at the couple and a heavy sigh escaped her lips before she began to walk back to village as well.


	2. Chapter 2

An eerie, tomb-like silence hung over the large, circular room. Its foreboding atmosphere further enhanced by the dim lighting that it possessed. The room was ringed by highly polished candelabras, the soft candle light causing the ornate metal structures to seem to strobe, the flickering lights causing the silver surfaces to alternate between gleaming proudly and melting into the shadows. The dim glow wasn't able to carry far though, the light seemingly being absorbed by the black marble surfaces that were the room's sole construction materials. Because of this, attention was immediately drawn to a slightly raised dais that dominated the center of the room, it being bathed in pale light streaming in through a skylight carved into the roof of the room. Beyond the opening, a sea of dark, roiling clouds pulsated in the skies above, a soft, golden light filtering down through the infrequent cracks between the puffy masses. The only sound to be heard in the room was a slight whistling as the wind rushed past the skylight. However, that began to change as a slow but steadily increasing golden glow appeared over the geometric patterns of the squat bas relief carving that made up the floor of the dais. The rise in the power of the unseen light source stopped long before becoming irritating to the eyes, the final shaft of light appearing no brighter than the glow of the surrounding candles.

A series of small black globs began filtering down the glowing path at a leisurely pace, the points of pure darkness pooling together on the ground before separating into two smaller puddles and gradually reaching skyward. As the material stacked higher and higher, the liquidly mass coalesced into a vaguely humanoid form, the shape further refining into that of an athletically built woman with a slightly taller than average height. The shaft of light reached a crescendo before retreating back into the skies above, the dark figure replaced with that of a woman that irradiated elegance. The woman held a perfect posture that belied an unmistakable regal grace, her toned body kept rigid to draw herself up to her full height. Despite the air about her that smacked of noble origins, her appearance seemed remarkably muted in comparison. She was clothed in wisps of a black silk garment that kept her left leg completely exposed and covered little more on her torso other than her well toned arms and pleasantly sized breasts. The sole garment that actually comprised of ample amounts of fabric was the hooded cloak that cascaded down her ectomorphic shoulders. Even her skin refused to reveal anything other than a darkened scheme, her ashen skin, blemished only by a series of glyphs tattooed onto her flesh that were faintly glowing with a pale blue light, furthering her bland palette. In fact the sole points of noticeable color on her figure were her fiery red hair and eyes, though most of her locks were concealed behind the hood of her cloak, which was pinned into her hair with an ornately crafted headpiece of dull silver.

She moved forward with a well practiced grace, her bare feet raising a faint echo as she stepped down from the short height of the dais. She moved in the direction that she knew by heart as the path to the room's doorway, not startled in the slightest when a loud metal bang was heard reverberating through the room.

"Your highness!" A pair of gruff voices sounded out in unison, the woman's eyes being drawn towards the sight of the two guards that flanked the sole passage from the room.

"Please," The woman stated with a smile that warmed the crimson rings of her irises. "Stand easy gentlemen." She stated in a friendly tone as she placed one of her slender hands to her chest and bowed her head slight in the direction of the sentries.

"By your leave!' They responded as one, removing their clenched, gauntleted fists from the black armor on their chests. Their hands quickly return to their sides, resuming the stiff position of attention.

The woman could not help but notice as she neared the pair of guards that they were no longer in the sparse, ceremonial armor that she so often associated with the palace guard. Nor did they wield the dainty halberds that she'd remembered seeing them carrying throughout her years at the castle. They now stood in full battle regalia, their bodies completed covered by thick armor suits and their hands clasping the thick wooden poles of pikes that bore a vicious looking spearhead. The woman's thoughts began to turn unpleasant as she pressed on the heavy wooden door before her, the darkened material moving with a deceptive ease as it glided outwards with only a moderate push from her hand. What lie beyond though, erased all but the most joyous memories.

Before her stretched the lush gardens of the main plaza of the Twilight Palace, its long rows of flowering shrubbery laid out in geometric shapes extended from one high, stoutly built wall of the courtyard to the other, the imagine caused her smile to extend into a full on grin. She couldn't help but quicken her pace as she hurried down the black marble steps leading from the Gateway Chamber. Her ears began to notice the calling of songbirds and the rush of water bubbling through the dozens of fountains scattered around the gardens, the sound intensifying in the direction of the Grand Fountain located in the center of the courtyard. The gentle fragrances of the flowers in full bloom of the summer wafted up into her nostrils, causing a girlish giggle to escape her lips. A quick blush colored her cheeks and she shot a hand to her mouth in reflex of the embarrassing outburst. She quickly removed her hand and shook her head slight. Even royalty had a right to be silly on occasion. She just couldn't dispel the joy at being back Twili soil. Of course the Fane of the Winds, magically suspended high above the castle grounds was truly a wonder to behold, but she now cared not for an enigma of faith, but rather desired nothing more than being among the lush gardens she knew so well. She stopped as soon as she cleared the steps, her feet making contact with the cobblestone path, and directed her attention to the nearest bush. She reached her hand out and plucked one of the Warrior's Crown flowers from the shrub, before pulling it close to her upturned nose and closing her eyes before drawing in a deep breath. The pleasant scent warmed her heart further, the woman holding it to her nose for a long moment before opening her eyes and examining the flower as she twirled the stem in between her thumb and forefinger. The pale red flower with which she was so familiar with reminded her so much of a more colorful flower she remembered seeing in Hyrule, a 'coral lily' Link had called it. The thought robbed the smile from the woman's face and the brightness from her eyes.

She still couldn't bring herself to think of Hyrule or especially Link without her mood turning melancholy. She slowly resumed her approach along the path that would lead her to the Grand Fountain then onto the palace proper, though she chose instead to stay off the cobblestone and instead stuck to the edge of the path. The feeling of the blades of grass passing along her feet with each step was lost on her, sticking one of her hands out to lightly run it through the soft leaves of the bushes that lined the walkway as her thoughts wandered back to when she'd first met the man that would eventually become her greatest friend.

She remembered seeing not a courageous young man at first, but rather a beast that seemed hell bent on revenge, though she was far from a beautiful young woman at the time as well. Two people trapped in twisted mockeries of who they were, whose only concern was the betterment of their people. She remembered when she'd first saw him; a snarling canine chained to the floor of a cell in Hyrule castle, her only thought was how she could use him to her advantage. She was still wounded emotionally from the events that betrayed her, stole her parents from her, cursed her people, and left her form perversely altered. It was because of that she'd mistreated him, hurling insults, withholding information, and mocking his plight. She could tell every time he glanced at her, the anger in his eyes that was a sign of him barely containing the urge to kill her. He didn't even refer to her by name at first, simply referring to her as a 'thrice damned goblin'. It hurt her inside every time he'd said that, but she refused to show any weakness and just laughed it off as if it was the most ridiculous attempt at an insult she'd ever heard, all the while knowing it was one of the most hateful curses a light dweller would muster.

Though as time passed, the venom between the two slowly tapered off. It was only to be expected with them spending every moment of their lives together over the course of a few months. She still remembered the first time he'd actually called her by her name, Midna. Her heart had soared when he had referred to her by name, the small gesture being an act that began to bury the hatchet between them. More time passed and they became increasingly closer as they dodged death and journeyed across the light realm trying to break the curse placed upon both their worlds. The time finally came when they'd both happily counted each other as friends. When it was finally over and Ganondorf lay slain, the curse had lifted, restoring Midna to her true form and if Link and the light realm's Princess Zelda were to be believed, restoring her life as well. She remembered blacking out from the pain of the injuries inflicted on her by Ganondorf, but she didn't remember a light or seeing long dead relatives or anything else that you were supposed to see when you died. She just remembered waking up as herself for the first time in many months, blushing like child just entering puberty as she saw the astonished way that Link was gawking at her. She had tried to play it off with a humorous comment but the heat she felt irradiating from her gray skin told her that she was only fooling herself.

She absent mindedly twirled the flower still her in hand around as she remained lost in thought. She insisted after the battle that they should travel to the Twilight Mirror so that she could return to her realm and ensure the safety of her people. She'd awkwardly told her two friends from the light realm goodbye, giving them both false reassurances that both she and they could come and go from their worlds at will. It was all a lie of course; she knew what had to be done.

She started to feel tears begin to well up in her eyes as she recalled the logic she'd used to convince herself that her actions were the best course of action for all those involved. She had already put both of them through so much pain and heartbreak, Link in particular. When the rebellion in the Twilight Realm spilled over into the light world, it tore the hero from the simple life he was leading in a small peaceful village. It nearly killed many he held dear, including the young woman that she knew he loved with an enormous passion. Even worse, was the fact that he'd had to spent months with the young woman not even knowing the intimacy they'd shared. Not to mention all the blood that was on his hands because of her. She'd taken one of the most important things to a person of any worth. She'd stolen his innocence. And she'd cheered him on the entire way.

Tears flowed freely from her sad, red eyes as she found herself recalling the events of just a few hours ago. Despite her promises she'd shattered the Twilight Mirror the second she'd passed through. She hated herself for doing that. She hated the 'stiff upper lip' royal logic that she'd used to manipulate her own actions. She hated herself for not even giving herself a chance to say what she'd wanted to. She'd choked up when she'd tried to tell him. Even if he had denied her, at least she would've known. The pain would've been immense indeed, but at least she would have know that it was okay to let go. The irony was not lost on her, to spare her pain, she had only created more. Worse, she would always be second guessing herself and would never know the way he'd felt about what she wanted to say. He never know that she---

"Queen Midna!" A man's voice called out in a hearty greeting, his words interrupting her train of thought. She quickly brought her arm up, dropping the Warrior's Crown blossom and using the black silk sleeve of her clothing to wipe away the lines of tears that had been rolling down her cheeks. As she withdrew her arm from her eyes, she realized that she'd been so lost in thought that she'd made her way the entire distance to the Grand Fountain. She mentally scolded her stupidity, seeing the bustle of Twili on the main path that ran between the main gates and the palace itself. It would do them no good after all that had happened for them to see the sole surviving member of the royal family stumbling about and crying like a spoiled child. She spotted the man that had shouted her name, an old, emaciated looking man clothed in a billowing light gray robe that was embroidered with Twili holy symbols. As he'd shouted her name, the people on the thoroughfare stopped dead in their tracks, excited but hushed whispers spreading through the crowd like a wildfire. They faced her direction and dropped to a knee, the sole exception being the elderly man that had called out to her, the man opting instead to lower his head and put his hands together in prayer.

"Thank you for your kindness," Midna offered; her voice cracking slightly as she began. She again mentally berated herself, reminding her that it was time to stop acting like a little girl who'd had her heartbroken and instead begin to act as a leader to her people. She once again adopted her graceful but authoritarian posture as she began to speak. "But I implore you, please rise." She continued, her voice beginning to strengthen in volume and resolved. She was no longer shyly offering thanks; she was now delivering a motivating speech in a booming voice that was able to be heard in the far reaches of the courtyard. "Today and in the long days to come, we cannot hold ourselves to the time consuming pursuit of protocol. We have much work to do in order to rebuild what was destroyed by the Usurper. We will never be able to recoup the losses of our friends and loved ones that so valiantly laid down their lives in the defense of our beloved kingdom. But we can remember their sacrifices, not by hiding in the shadows and undergoing a never ending state of mourning, but by devoting our time to working together to restore our lands to their former glory. By doing that, our actions will echo throughout all the realms. They will seep down to very Underworld itself were the vile Usurper rots away, and he will know that even in the smallest of measures, he was not victorious!"

The crowd stood and erupted into thunderous cheers; the smiling faces, clapping hands, and fists being pumped into the air serving to widen what had started as an appreciative smile on the features of Midna's face, into a full grin. She raised her hands and quieted the crowd, waiting for the celebratory din to die down before she thanked the assembled Twili once more, taking hold of the edges of her cloak and deeply curtsying to the masses before waving them along their way.

She and the man that had announced her presence quickly closed the distance between each other, the elderly man kissing the hand that Midna offered to him. She bowed her head lowly in return, wishing instead to embrace the man but knowing that he was far too proper to allow anything other than his current actions for a greeting.

"You seem to have inherited your father's gift for the spoken word my Queen." The elderly man said, his mouth forming into a smile behind a pale blue beard that was shot through with more than a few strands of gray. "He would be proud."

"You are far too kind wise Ezekiel." Midna responded with another deep bow of her head. "Though I would be amazed if in my later years I can even come close to the speaker my father was, let alone surpass him."

"You call me wise yet you question my compliments?" He playfully chided as he raised a bushy eyebrow.

"Forgive me great sage." She replied in a tone that had undercurrents of embarrassment as a blush sprung into existence on her cheeks. "And why do you keep referring to me as 'Queen Midna'?"

"Because it is true." He explained as though the answer was obvious, a wave of his hand indicating that they should proceed into the palace. "While I know that the death of your parents was very tragic and I am sure it is still an open wound on your soul," He began as they walked side by side towards the main doors of the palace. "The fact of the matter is that the people need to be reassured now that it is safe. The mob is a fickle thing my dear Queen, they think not of a 'Princess' as an effective ruler, but as a child still learning the delicate intricacies of state craft."

"But it is a true assumption in my case." Midna interjected in a defeated tone.

"Yes, that is the reality of the matter your Highness," He responded, a sly smile edging its way onto his weathered features as he continued. "But the people do not need to know that. You understand this more than you realize. Your inspiring words moments ago prove that you understand the basic concepts of the art of the good-natured bluff. The people have been through much in the past few months, and right now they are like a wounded animal. They will scurry away at the slightest sign that things are amiss. You have to let them know that they are safe. True security will take years to achieve, but every day there are little actions that you can take that will give the perception that they are safe. And there are times when perception can be just as real as the truth."

"You have no idea how much it gladdens my heart that you survived the turmoil." Midna admitted. If she had to carry on in a world without her parents to ease her into the role of a ruler, at least she had the best possible advisor. "I hope that I can convince you to become my chamberlain while I sit on the throne."

"I must respectfully decline my Queen." Ezekiel admitted with a deep bow of his head. "I am but a humble servant of the Pantheon."

"I see your false modesty survived the chaos well enough." She spoke in a slightly irritated tone. It had always annoyed her that Ezekiel, the High Pontifex of the Fane of the Pantheon, the highest rank a holy man could hold, acted as though he was nothing more than a simple monk toiling away in a secluded monastery. She let the annoyance fade though; she could never risk alienating such a good man that had done so much for her. "Can I at least implore you to stay close to me as a chief advisor?"

"Have I not been 'advising' you since you were freshly out of swaddling clothes my Queen?" He asked with a warm light in his dark gray eyes. "Whether or not my teachings have ever taken root in that fanciful mind of yours is another matter entirely."

"I know I have never been the ideal student," Midna began, the light hearted comment provoking a more somber response from the young Queen. "But I am now more willing to learn from your wisdom than ever."

"Rest your mind child." The holy man spoke in a firm tone stopping and facing Midna as the two stood on the steps leading up to the palace proper. "If it is your wish, it will be so that only death can separate me from your side."

"Thank you old friend." The young Queen spoke in a joyous whisper, ignoring the wishes of Ezekiel and all the trappings of protocol as she threw her arms around his slender shoulders and embraced him tightly.


	3. Chapter 3

Link looked out over the horizon, watching the lightning illuminate the distant clouds with a seemingly unnatural red and yellow glow. By the time the sound of thunder reached his ears, it was but a faint, long echo of its usual loud clap. The wind that was driving the far off storm was thankfully sweeping through Ordon as well, the breeze causing the leaves to sound out a peaceful rustling and washing away some of the oppressive humidity that hung over the forest. He enjoyed the feeling of the gusts flowing past his fully exposed skin as he stood out on his home's balcony that looked out over the shadowy path leading to the village. The gentle feeling helped him try to relax as he lightly worked his fingers back and forth on the smooth wood of the balcony's banister, most of his weight resting on the palm of his hands.

He'd been unable to find a peaceful rest that night, though the truth of the matter was that he'd been unable to find rest any night so far in the week's time he'd spent in the hamlet. He'd remembered that before when he was still coming to grips with the fact that his long quest to free his lands from the curse, he was unable to believe it was finally over. Now, Goddesses forgive him, he found himself wishing that it was not over. Of course the first three days, his mind and his heart held nothing but joy as he spent his time in a hard earned state of relaxation as he reconnected with his beloved Ilia. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as his thoughts returned to the young woman. He couldn't remember how many times they'd passionately made love since his return, both of them having spend months starved of the other's touch.

Though a man could not live on love alone, nor could the young couple simply keep themselves locked in his home the entire time. He had made the rounds of the village, Ilia's arm locked into his the entire time, speaking with the locals and finding out if there was anything they'd needed help with to recover from the turmoil. It caught him by surprise though, that the situation turned in another direction entirely. Instead it was the kind villagers asking if there was anything he required. The acts of benevolence and respect were a new experience to Link and a large portion of his dialogue with them had become him respectfully declining their gifts.

Likewise, the children of the village wouldn't stand for missing out on further tutelage on swordsmanship from their hero. He had spent two hours a day training the children in the way of the blade, surprised when even several of Ordon's adults joined in on the classes. The training of the locals was reinvigorating to him and he found himself missing an opportunity to make himself useful. So on the fourth day of his return, he began to serve as a ranch hand for Bo once more.

However he'd found himself bored quickly with the work. Gone was the thrill he felt as he stormed Epona towards the flock of Ordon goats to herd them into the barn where Ilia would be waiting to milk them. Even the unbridled exhilaration he felt when he'd have to run down a lone animal and lasso it, quickly sliding off of the mare's back and shooting towards the beast to hog tie it, had faded. He didn't understand it all. All the same feelings were there, the wind whipping past him, the sound of Epona's hooves slamming into the dirt below, the thick smell of sweat and wildlife, and above all, the smile and bright eyes of Ilia looking on from the barn. Then just yesterday in the late afternoon, it had taken a turn for the worse.

He and Ilia had been walking back to his home, arm in arm as usual, when he'd heard a thunderous clamor of ground being kicked up under hoof. Bo had been on his porch at that time and shouted a warning to the young couple. Link didn't even remember making a conscious decision; his body merely reacted as easily as shooting his hand to his nose at the feeling of a coming sneeze. Loosed his lover from his arm and gave her a solid push away from him as he turned to face the stampeding goat that had sprung loose from the corral. His body crouched down into a low fighting stance half a heartbeat before the goat dropped his head and rammed its horns at Link with an angry snort. The hero dug the balls of his feet into the ground and took a firm grip on the beast's impressive horns, the strength in his arms denying the large animal from ever making contact. Link growled out a war cry as he slid to a stop, quickly pushing off with his legs as he threw his arms powerfully into the air. A startled bleat sounded out from the beast as it was raised up on his hind legs before tumbling backwards, the hero landing heavily on top of the goat and roughly planting a knee into the creature's sternum to pin it to the ground. It was an impressive display but it kept going, the scene turning towards the horrifying. The creature's horns were still locked in Link's white knuckled grip and he began to twist the beast's head around to an awkward angle.

'Link no!' A frantic shout from Bo sounded out in a booming voice as the large man shot forward, curling his powerful hands around Link's wrists and forcing the hero's hands to turn the animal's head back towards its natural angle. Link didn't try to stop Bo but he seemed hell bent on snapping the beast's neck like a dry twig, still pulling against both the animal's neck muscles and the iron grip of the mayor. It wasn't until he felt the gentle hands of Ilia lightly pulling back on his shoulders that he began to relent.

'Link, it's okay. You don't need to do this. We're safe." She spoke softly into his ear, her serene voice so close that he could feel the heat of her breath on the soft flesh of his ear. The soothing voice of his love seemed to break the spell and causing him to release his hold on the beast. The terrified animal quickly scurried off, not one of the three people bothering to try to stop it as they were all too consumed with shock at what had almost taken place. Long moments passed with no one daring to even breathe loudly. Link simply stared at his hands like he'd never seen them before, his blue eyes glazed over and filled with utter fear at what he'd almost done without so much as a second thought. And the worst part was how alive it made him feel. The rush of adrenaline as he was presented with danger and had to take control of the situation to keep those he cared about safe while eliminating the threat was intoxicating. It still put a sour taste in his mouth to think about it.

He'd slept alone that night, the first since his return, at his own request. Ilia pleaded with him to let her stay, his love not wanting to leave him in solitude after such a dramatic incident. Link tried to talk her out the thought, worrying that he would be a danger to others, but she would hear nothing of it. It was finally Bo that spoke up and convinced his daughter otherwise.

'I know you're an adult now my daughter and I have no further right to demand your obedience,' He had spoken in a reassuring but sagely tone. 'And I know that you love Link with all your heart and cannot stand to be away from his side. But there are times when a man has heavy thoughts that he must think on, and it is best for him to do so without distraction. He must study himself to discover the core of a truth, stripping away all the falsehoods that surround it and would lead him to erroneous and possibly disastrous conclusions. To disturb such a thing is to invite misfortune.'

Following her father's advice, Ilia relented without further argument. Link retired to his home in haste and as the hours passed, he realized just how true the mayor's advice had been. He sat alone with a furrowed brow as night fell over the realm and plunged the house into darkness, the hero not even bothering to light a single candle. Moonlight gradually filtered in through the modest home's windows, an errant ray of pale blue light illuminated a series of pegs that were jutting out from the wall. A twinkle caught the Link's eye and he slowly shifted his melancholy gaze towards the source of the glint, the Master Sword.

The soft lighting caused the ornately carved hilt to taken an otherworldly glow. The weapon seemed to call to him from across the room, the blue velvet strips of fabric on the hilt seemingly begging him to wrap his hand around them and wield the sword. A slight smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he felt his muscles begin to tighten in the first phases of the action of standing. In spite of the strange attraction to the object Link willed his muscles to relax and, with some effort, remained in the chair which he occupied. A realization suddenly hit the hero that caused his smile to disappear as his jaw dropped, the color draining from his face. It was the sword that was causing this.

The hero muttered a prayer as he mentally reviewed the time he'd spent at home, noting for the first time how often he had gazed at the weapon for long moments at a time or would brush his fingers across it anytime he passed it. He wasn't sure if 'cursed' was an appropriate term but something unnatural about the blade was definitely attempting to influence his thoughts and actions. The revelation seemed to drain all the energy he had left, proceeding to his bed in a daze before heavily collapsing on top of the sheets.

He had woken in the morning to sound of someone calling out his name in a musical voice. He groggily roused himself and made his way to balcony to look down and see the almost heavenly form of Ilia standing on the grass below, the simple but beautiful yellow dress she wore billowing in the light breeze. The garment gave her an aura of health and purity that intensified when a large smile spread across her features as her soft emerald eyes fell on his figure. Nearly all the dark thoughts he'd had the day before were melted away when she brushed a hand through the side of her dark blonde hair, taking care not to disturb the small buttercup she had tucked behind her ear.

They had spent the entire day doing all the things they'd enjoyed; they rode Epona all along the winding paths that crisscrossed the forest, swam in one of the small ponds that were tucked away behind the trees and underbrush, and they picnicked on a secluded knoll that, other than signs of their own passing, seemed untouched for ages. Neither had brought up the previous day's events, both thankful that the other was avoiding the issue. Through it all, Link kept a smile on his face for Ilia's benefit, but deep down, the day only troubled his mind more. It felt simply like he was going through the motions, unable to find the true joy that he would have found in the same activities in the days prior to Hyrule being cursed.

There was now no question on the course of action he had to take. He had to return the Master Sword to its resting place and pray to the Goddesses that its influence would wane.

"What foul magic steals my beloved from our bed?" A sleepy voice asked from behind him, the jesting tone of Ilia interrupting his thoughts.

"Sleep evaded me." He answered in an apologetic tone. He was about to turn around to face her but he felt her slip her slightly calloused but ever so gentle hands underneath his arms, and hooking them around the front of his chest and drawing herself closer to him. Link felt the soft, warm flesh of her bare breasts and abdomen flatten against his broad back as she leaned her head against the back of his shoulder.

"Oh my poor Hero," She purred as she began to plant tender kisses along his muscular shoulder and nape. "I am sorry that yours is a restless recovery from victory." She cooed as she began running one of her hands through the thin coat of his nearly translucent chest hair. Her other hand idled played with the crystal pendant suspended from a thick leather cord that hung around his neck. Link was never without the necklace as it was given to him at an early age and explained that it belonged to his mother.

"I'm going to have to have to leave for a few hours tomorrow." He explained, the statement causing all of his lover's movements to halt suddenly. "I think that what happened yesterday was because of the Master Sword. Hopefully once I return the blade to its resting place, it will finally put closure to this whole mess for me."

"If you think it will help then I will gladly see you off for a few short hours." Ilia said in a solemn tone as she tightly hugged herself to Link's body and rested her cheek on his shoulder.

"By the Goddesses I pray so." Link responded with a grim nod.

"As do I." His lover added in a low whisper. A long moment passed in reverent silence before she resumed her soft kisses and gentle petting. "But tomorrow will come soon enough," She said, lightly tugging backwards on her hero's pectoral muscles in an effort to urge him to follow her. "If I must lose your company for a time then, I must insist on having your company now."

"What man could argue with such logic?" He asked with a chuckle as he took one of Ilia's small hands in his and gave it a tender kiss and a gentle squeeze.

* * *

Link gave the stout laces of his boots a firm pull, trying to fit them as snugly as possible to his thick to but comfortable brown leather pants. Satisfied that it was tightly secured to his foot and calf, he tied them off and glanced up to catch the worried gaze of Ilia. His lover was leaning against one of the walls of his home, clad only in one of the hero's longer gray shirts, its sleeves pushed halfway up her forearms and the bottom of the shirt falling mid-thigh. Her head was slightly bowed and her arms lightly hugged her own abdomen.

"You are free to join me if you'd like." Link offered as he stood up, reaching for the chain mail tunic he'd placed nearby. She stood in silence for a long moment, her eyes tightly closed and her teeth lightly biting down on her own lower lip. He waited for her to say something and when no words came, he slipped the flexible light armor garment on over his cream colored cotton shirt. He busied himself with tightening the leather straps on the tunic's flanks, the small metal links folding over themselves as he ensured that there was a proper fit. He started to walk over to where his studded green cotton tunic lay when Ilia finally spoke.

"Is it dangerous?" She asked in a low tone, casting her sad eyes downwards.

Link contemplated his answer for a moment, mentally reviewing the route he'd have to take to return the blade. He ground his teeth slightly as he remembered the child-like but wholly psychotic golem that held dominion over the portion of the forest directly surrounding the derelict temple that served as the Master Sword's resting place. He thought of how to respond to his lover's question. On one hand, he knew it would comfort her to go along with him; on the other, he didn't want to lead her into dangers that she was not prepared for. In the end, he chose a careful compromise.

"A part of the journey is." The hero admitted in as nonchalant a tone as he could muster. "Though, you could still accompany me to a point. There is a hermit that I have traded with before who lives in the forest; his camp is just outside of the hazardous portion of the journey. I could leave you in his care until I return."

"No." Ilia conceded in a deflated tone. "I would not want to slow your progress."

"If you are certain." Link said in an even tone, his eyes studying the features of her face.

"Indeed." His lover replied as she brought her eyes up to his, a weak smile crossing her features. "Just hurry back to me my love."

"Indeed." He responded with an answer that intentionally mirrored her own, mustering a warm smile and confident nod in an attempt to reassure her.

Link turned and crossed the remaining distance to his studded garment and slipped the cotton and metal shirt on before descending down into the basement of his home. Upon reaching the floor of the lower level, he caught sight of a lantern thanks to the light streaming in from above. He struck a match and held it up to wick of the lantern, the room illuminating with flickering firelight as the oil soaked fabric was brought to life. The basement resembled an armory worthy of an entire army, exotic weapons and tools carefully arrayed on selves mounted to the room's walls. He waved the fire from the lit match in his hands as his eyes scanned the contents of the space, his thoughts racing as he tried to decide what to take with him.

His hands first fell on the Ordon Sword he'd been tasked with delivering to Hyrule Castle months ago just before the onset of the turmoil, though it had seen heavy use since its casting and the kingdom already had a greater tribute from Ordon in the form of the services of the hero himself. He quickly strapped its scabbard across his back, realizing that he would have need of a second blade to replace the Master Sword after relinquishing it. His hand automatically went towards a quiver of arrows but he stopped himself, reminding him that he'd require space on his back to carry the weapon he was setting out to return. Instead he reached for a thick brown leather belt that sported numerous pouches and featured small suspenders attached to it, quickly buckling the belt and placing the suspenders under the strap of the sheath on his back and over his shoulders before buckling a smaller strap that ran across his chest and connected the suspenders.

He busied himself filling up the pouches with small bombs, medicinal tonics and salves, and a number of basic survival items, his hands automatically placing each item in the pouches that he knew as if they were a part of him. He grabbed a small handful of metal clips from a squat wooden box, attaching them to the belt with a well practiced precision, his eyes never being cast down to observe what his hands were doing. He went about collecting the last few items he intended on taking, a simple dagger, one of his clawshots, and a length of rope in a tightly secured bundle. He attached each item to one of the clips on his belt as he crossed back over towards the ladder that lead to the main floor of his home. He paused at the base of the ladder to retrieve the stout metal shield that rested near it, sliding his right arm through its heavy leather handles as the firelight danced across the ornate blue, red, and golden designs displayed on its face. He took a quick second to blow out the flame on the lantern before ascending the ladder back to his home's main living area.

"Do you need me to ready Epona?" Ilia asked as Link reemerged from the basement, her voice a little brighter now that at the prospect of being able to help in some small way.

"No," The hero responded with a smile as he made his way over to where the Master Sword hung on the wall. "She won't be able to make most of the journey so I'll just leave her with you. Though thank you for the offer."

"Perhaps I'll give her nice bath while you're away then." His lover replied absent mindedly as she shifted her gaze out of a nearby window and idly rubbed one of her hands up and down her arm. Link guessed that she was trying to think of ways to distract her from the sadness that she was obviously dealing with at the prospect of him leaving so soon after his return. He was still looking towards her with a hint of sadness when he felt his hand tighten around something. He glanced over and his eyes widened in shock as he realized his hand had seemed to take on a mind of its own and had gravitated towards the tightly wrapped velvet on the hilt of the Master Sword. Not even the weight of the shield on his arm had clued him in to the movements his arm had made.

The hero would've scowled at the manipulative spirit that seemed to reside in the blade if it weren't for the fact that it just felt so right to be holding it. The weapon seemed perfectly balanced even when contained within the scabbard, he took hold of the strap and placed it across his back with a precision and familiarity that made it appear as if he had been performing the action since birth. As the subtle addition of weight was felt on his back, a smile formed on his features against his will. He forcibly willed the gesture away as he loosened the traveling straps on the shield and slipped his arms through them as though the protective slab of metal were a rucksack. The sooner he was rid of the Master Sword, the better. The thought that he was little more that a human vessel for the legendary weapon disturbed Link to his very core.

He quickly slipped his hands into the studded brown leather gauntlets that rested on a small table nearby, flexing his fingers a few times once the gloves were in place. He shot another long glance at Ilia, his lover still staring out of the window, before he began to speak in a tone that had only the slightest edge of sadness in it. "It's time for me to go."

"So it is." She said, turning to face her hero and putting a brave smile on her face in spite of the sad light in her emerald eyes. The two approached the door of his home, Ilia waiting beside it when he arrived. "Take care of yourself out there my brave hero." She said before hooking her arms behind his neck and pulling him in for a long, passionate kiss. Link wrapped his arms around her small waist as their lips maintained their intimate connection, though something was off about the kiss. While Ilia was drawing him tighter to her, as if she was afraid to let go, he seemed to just performing actions that were required of him, as if he was nothing more than a theatre actor. He even noticed that his weight was shifting unbidden towards the door, as if his feet were in a hurry to begin his journey.

His lover finally broke away from the kiss, her labored breath falling hot on his face, looking up at him with a morose gaze. She kept one arm hooked around his neck while the other reached out to the pegs sunken into the wall near her, retrieving his dull green conical cap from where it was stored. She took the hat in both hands and gingerly placed it on his head, running one of her gentle hands down the length of the headwear to smooth it against the back of his skull. She offered him another brave smile and a quick peck of a kiss on his lips. "Come back to me safe."

"I will." He promised in a low voice with a slow, solemn nod. He let his eyes linger on the face of his love for a moment longer, filling his nostrils with her flowery scent and lingering smells of the delightful breakfast she'd made him that morning. He silently prayed to the Goddesses that returning the Master Sword would set things right and allow him once again enjoy who he was and the life he led instead of lingering on thoughts of wandering and war. He turned to leave and found the conflict inside himself to be almost unbearable; his thoughts willing him to stay with his love to take away her sadness, while his body was all too eager to set out on the open road once more in search of the thrill of battle.

He stepped out into the hazy morning and as he began walking purposefully towards the path that left the village, he muttered a venomous statement to no one but himself. "Goddesses damn this accursed instrument of death."


	4. Chapter 4

Midna was thankful for the more conservative and thicker black velvet dress he was clad in, the material and the fact that it covered almost every inch of her skin keeping her from shaking under the unusually cold wind that cut across the large plain she was standing upon. She was thankful for the black leather corset that was tightly laced around her abdomen, the repressive garment allowing her to mentally catch herself and put a stop to the small convulsions that would wrack her body every so often. Most of all, she was thankful for the nearly opaque black silk veil draped over her features; for it did not allow her people to see the hot tears which were streaming down from her tightly closed eyes. She did not want to continue to have the sight of her father and mother's open graves burn its way into her mind.

The funeral service for the murdered king and queen of the Twili was a grand affair that was attended by all the surviving members of the nobility and important officials that served the crown. It was that elite group that were crowded around the elaborately carved black marble obelisks that were to serve as the headstones, their purpose apparent as they each stood before a long rectangular hole that had been dug out of the earth. Though beyond the inner circle of powerful people, a sea of common Twili stretched out as far as the eye could see, all of them there to pay their respects to the beloved pair of departed rulers. The two groups of vastly different mourners were united by their melancholy emotions and the haunting, morose song that was being called forth by the horns of Twilight Royal Orchestra as they honored the memory of the deceased.

The young queen was trying her best to outwardly keep her composure, though holding back the overwhelming feeling of sadness weighted on her as heavily as the Crown of Fused Shadows resting on her head did. She never remembered the real Crown of Fused Shadows being as heavy as the replica was, even when she wore it in her child-like cursed form in the magical object's rarely seen full helmet configuration. Instead the forgery was molded in the commonly observed crown configuration, a single tall band around the wearer's forehead that featured four inwardly curled spires projecting up from it.

She hated wearing the false crown but as Ezekiel always pointed out, symbols were an important part of a monarch's reign. The young queen remembered the look of shock on the holy man's face after he'd inquired about the real crown's location and she had told him it was destroyed in the light realm. After he'd recovered from the news, he'd immediately ordered an exact duplicate made in secret and with great haste. Though she could not argue with his logic as she noticed how much more attentive and respectful people were towards her when she had begun wearing the crown.

As the day of the funeral rapidly approached, Midna had been terrified that Ezekiel would recommend that she speak at the service; a fear that she tearfully confessed to him one night when they were alone in his study. She remembered him offering a kind smile and in an uncharacteristic move, stroked her long red hair as a father would to a daughter. In that moment she had felt peace as he spoke, as though the hands of time had wound back ten years and she was once again a frightened girl of 8 summers being reassured by middle aged Bishop that there were no monsters underneath her bed. 'Fret not my child,' He'd said. 'Being strong for your people is a key element to a ruler. But there are times it is just as important to remind them that you are just as susceptible to sadness in the wake of tragedy as they are. It reminds them that underneath the titles, powerful speeches, and all the trappings of royalty, you are still Twili.'

Not having to deliver the eulogy was a concession for certain, but she still had to stand proud and strong and present the image that she was the one that the people could count on to help them shoulder their burdens during the lengthy rebuilding process. It was the desired image, there was no debating that, but it was the furthest thing from what she wanted to do. She didn't want to stand there stoically, only shedding silent tears because they would be concealed by her veil. She just wanted to break down right then and there and be caught in a sympathetic embrace, letting her tears and sobs loose without restriction. She was an orphan now because everyone in the realm, especially Midna herself, had let themselves be fooled by a cunning and power mad psychopath. She was thrust into a position of great responsibility with only a slightest clue as to what she needed to do. She felt like the mythical giant that was cursed to hold up the world for their crimes. The weight of the world was crashing down on her and she wasn't even allowed to properly mourn.

Even if she could just let go, she cynically reminded herself, who would catch her, comfort her, and dry her tears? There wasn't a soul now that her parents had passed on. The only people left that she even remotely knew were the old sage Ezekiel and her timid lady in waiting, Jezebelle. The holy man might be willing to sacrifice protocol long enough to escort her to her carriage but then he would have to return to his duties in overseeing the ceremony. Her lady in waiting would likely just scream for a physician while fanning the young queen's face and looking terrified out of her mind. The only person she could think of that would give her a shoulder to cry on for all the time in the world was Link. But Midna had personally seen to eliminating that possibility when she shattered the Mirror of Twilight.

The regret from destroying the gateway between the worlds only compounded the young queen's sadness, her emotions becoming so powerful that they were beginning to block out her senses. Because of this, she hadn't noticed that Ezekiel's voice had stopped, the final blessing of the dead complete. She was startled slightly as something soft brushed against her hands.

"M…My que…queen?" A low voice stuttered out in an uncertain tone. Midna's teary eyes snapped open, revealing the blurred sight of Jezebelle standing in front of her, the lithe woman's submissive posture and bright yellow hair drawn up in a serve bun was unmistakable. Her slender hands offered a pair of bouquets to the young queen, the dull white colors of the Maiden's Lament flowers, tulips she'd heard a similar flowered called in Hyrule, capping off the pale greenery. "Wo…Would y…you li…like to la…lay the fl...flowers or sh…shall I?"

"I will take them, thank you Jezebelle." Midna managed to say in a kind, even voice as she took the bouquets from her lady in waiting's hands. Her servant bowed her head deeply before quickly moving to her usual position behind and slightly to the side of the young queen. Midna took in a deep breath, fighting the urge to sob as she held her head high and began to walk forward with a practiced grace that she was able to hold in spite of the urge to throw herself on the ground.

As soon as Midna took her first step, the symphony began to play the traditional funeral march. The melancholy notes tugged at her very soul as she slowly walked towards the open pits that she had been already been positioned between. Each blow of the horns unleashed even more tears as she strode forward, the lightweight boots she was wearing sinking slightly into the wet ground left over from a rainstorm that morning. Each beat of the drums made her want to wail as the wind ruffled her garments around her. Each whistle and whine of the flutes made her want to fall to her knees and demand that the Pantheon answer why this was allowed to happen as the weight of the false crown seemed to try to be actively forcing her head downward.

Through sheer force of will alone, she managed to reach the head of each grave, her tear obscured gaze lowering to reveal the black wooden caskets in the pits below. The dull glow of the geometric lines of the Twili holy symbols carved and painted into the lids of the coffins seemed to unsympathetically stare back at her. She slowly knelt down, taking care to not collapse to her knees entirely. She held her left hand out over the final resting place of her father, King Devlin, and let the bouquet clasped in her slender hands drop into the grave. "Goodbye my father, my example, my King." She spoke solemnly, as she deeply bowed her head over the open pit.

He head was held down for a long moment before she brought her gaze slowly up and turned towards the other grave. She extended her right hand in a mirror of her previous action, letting the remaining bouquet slip from her fingers and fall to the final resting place of her mother, Queen Ophelia. "Goodbye my mother, my inspiration, my Queen." She said in a somber tone, again deeply bowing her head over the grave for a long moment.

She slowly rose; her willpower and muscles fighting against everything her heart, mind, and soul screamed at her to the contrary. She wished she could have said more but as Ezekiel said before, her people needed a strong leader. She could mourn but she could not break. The thought did little to stem the torrent of silent tears as she made her way to her carriage, resisting the urge to sprint towards it as she continued to move with a regal grace that, regardless of her disdain for it, spoke volumes of her self-control.

* * *

Midna rested her bony chin in the gap between her knees, her legs drawn tightly up against her chest. The yellow portion of her eyes were shot through with a tinge of redness, indicative of the large amounts of tears she'd shed since her parents funeral that afternoon. After returning to the castle, she'd made haste to her chambers and as soon as she'd closed the door, she'd slipped the false crown from her head broken down. She wept and sobbed for what seemed like hours, not bothering to even move her body away from the cold black marble floor at the foot of her door. She was only dimly aware at the time that the afternoon had transitioned into night.

Eventually she stopped crying but it was more due to the fact that her eyes had simply dried up rather than her sadness subsiding. She had finally risen and changed into a plain black silk nightgown that hung down from her well toned shoulders by thin straps, the material ending mid-thigh and serving to expose some of the faintly glowing tattoo on her right leg. She had collapsed onto the dark silk sheets of her enormous bed, praying that her grieving had exhausted her and would cause her to quickly find sleep. The Pantheon was not with her that night it seemed. She tossed and turned for hours, her mind constantly replaying the events of the funeral. Eventually she gave up on what appeared to be a fruitless endeavor and had instead chosen to sit upon the soft mattress, her vacant stare focused at nothing in particular as she waited in silent darkness.

She rolled over into a fetal position as one of her hands tugged idly at the black bedding while her mind journeyed back to the beginning of it all. She'd met Zant almost a full year ago; he was the dashing son of high ranking baron though he was actually the de-facto lord of his father's lands due to the eldery man's failing health. The charming man was six summers her senior and had used the time wisely, making quite a name for himself by personally leading his father's men in a very successful campaign against several tribes of barbarians that had banned together and began pillaging the Twili countryside.

He caught Midna's eye when he'd come to the palace one lazy summer day to pay tribute to her father with the banners of the fallen barbarian chieftains. They'd been introduced and the noble warrior's flattery instantly drew the affections of the young princess. He returned to the palace many times after that with increasing frequency and each time with less focus on her father and more focus on her. They grew close and eventually their relationship turned into a budding romance, and 'why not' she'd thought at the time. He was a noble, but he wasn't like the stuffy politicians and boring misers that the young princess knew as nobles; he was brave, intelligent, charming, handsome, and he always seemed to be taking control of his own destiny. Midna was giddily awaiting the day he'd finally ask her father for permission to take her hand in marriage.

Anytime Zant would talk with her father in private, she would try to sneak in on the pair, each time hoping that it would be the time to hear the noble warrior announce his intentions to try to wed the young princess. Every time though, the conversation would not be about her but about Zant trying to convince her father that they should invade the light realm, stating that he'd found an artifact during his war with the barbarians that would make the conquest possible. He seemed obsessed with crossing over to the world of light to take revenge on its inhabitants for the crimes they'd persecuted on the Twili so very long ago. It was one day in a particularly impassioned pitch to the king concerning the need for invasion that Midna witnessed the unthinkable. She saw Zant murder her father. The scene replayed in her head like she had just witnessed it.

She was hiding in between the bookshelves in her father's private library as she listened in on the conversation between the two.

'Is there no way I can convince you of the benefits this has to our people my King?' Zant had asked in a disbelieving tone.

'Young Baron, I tell you that this course will only end in disaster.' Her father explained in a sagely tone. 'We have no want for resources, no logistical system in place to hold ground in another realm, and no reason to wish ill on the inhabitants of the light realm. Anyone actually involved in the events that led to our people coming to be here is long dead. The feud doesn't need to even die because it's already dead. There's no reason to attempt to resurrect it.'

'So be it.' Zant relented in a detached tone. Without another word, he drew his blade with a lightning quickness and raised it high over his head. Midna's father simply remained seated, a look of shock and betrayal on his weathered features. The usurper brought his weapon down hard on the skull of the king, the blow shattering the Crown of Fused Shadows that the ruler had been wearing and cleaving completely through the king's head, Zant having to pull the blade free from the ruler's chest by the time the sword had finished its arc. The room was splattered in bright crimson blood as the king's head ruptured like some sort of nightmarish bubble of swamp gas bursting through the mud.

Midna had screamed at the top of her lungs and rushed towards her father and Zant, the automatic action leaving the young princess unsure as to whether she was rushing to cradle her father's misshapen corpse or to try and attack the usurper somehow. She never found out though, as Zant quickly stepped into her path and delivered a backhanded slap to her with so much force; it knocked at least two of her rear teeth out and sent her sprawling to the floor. She was moaning in pain and spitting up blood as the usurper slowly stalked over to where she lay. Midna tried to weakly crawl away, struggling to fight back the dark that clawed at the edge of her vision.

'Silence you spoiled bitch of a royal brat!' He growled as he'd slapped her. He continued to let loose venom on her as he approached. 'I was considering sparing you, throwing you in the dungeon so that I could ravage you whenever I pleased. But from what I've seen so far, a whore like you would likely enjoy that too much. I should throw you out in the middle of the courtyard on a pike, but since I'll already have your daddy and mommy out there, no one will care about their soiled trollop of daughter. I have something more special in mind for you. I'm going to show you a little something I learned while I was out slaughtering barbarians.'

Zant raised his offhand and an unholy looking sickly green ball of cackling energy began to expand in his open palm. 'I'm going to twist that pretty little lusty body of yours into a shape more benefiting your simple minded view. I'll take away your mind and make you my pet.' Midna started to frantically look around for anything to defend herself with. Her hand fell on the cold silver of one of the room's free standing braziers. 'But don't worry about your precious little gash; I've had my fill of that already. Nothing quite like breaking a royal virgin in. And besides, when I'm through with reshaping you? Nobody's going to want to touch you with a leper's pecker.' He laughed as the orb of energy grew in size, the bolts of pale green lightning swirling around it like leaves in a storm wind. Midna's hands tightened around the legs of the brazier and she let loose with a cry like a wounded animal as she tapped into strength she didn't even know existed as she pulled her legs up under herself and launched the brazier towards Zant. The pan of flaming coals struck him directly in the face, a tortured scream escaping his burning lips as he blindly loosed the orb of sickly green energy at Midna. She remembered feeling something heavy slam into her and then she blacked out.

She'd awoken some time later in the castle's catacombs; trapped in a warped, child-like body and tightly clutching a shattered portion of the Crown of Fused Shadows to her tiny chest. By then the curse was already spreading across the Twili Kingdom and she was powerless to do anything about it alone.

The hatred she'd had for Zant was unparalleled; even now that he was dead it brought a sadistic smile to her face to think of him as being raked over some demon's coals in the underworld. He'd enslaved and mutated hundreds of Twili and killed Pantheon knows how many of her people and light dwellers, including her father and mother. He had betrayed his entire race and their way of life. Yet at one point, she'd loved him. The thought made her sick. She couldn't believe she'd cared for him once. She couldn't believe she'd let him embrace her. She couldn't believe she'd let him kiss her. She couldn't believe she'd let him…

The air suddenly became too thick to breathe in her chambers. Midna fought for gasps of air, her skin started to itch as if she hadn't bathed in weeks, and bile started to raise in the back of her throat. She shot up off of the bed like it was on fire, she half-ran, half-stumbled towards the door. She flung the door open with all her might and collapsed heavily against the opposite wall of the hallway, her body shaking like a dying leaf in the wind.

"Your highness!" One of the Royal Guards stationed at the end of the hallway shouted in alarm, loud metallic clanking heard as he sprinted down the hallway as fast as he could while being encased in the restrictive black metal suit of armor. The sound of the guard rushing to her aid was soon joined by the noises of other guards responding to their queen. Midna drew in a few deep breaths and shook her head in an attempt to clear it; she was glad that she hadn't eaten all day, for she feared she would've vomited all over the floor if there had been any food in her belly. She weakly held up a hand to signal her protectors that she did not require aid.

"Are you sure all is well your highness?" A second, more gruff voice asked in a concerned tone.

"Yes," The young queen managed to choke out, putting on a brave smile as she looked up at the warriors with apologetic eyes. "All is well gentlemen. My apologies for giving you cause for alarm. I was merely having a bad dream. Please return to your posts."

"If you are certain my Queen…" The guard who first responded to her plight, Ritchter, she believed his name was, asked; the man obviously still very much concerned with her condition and reluctant to be dismissed as though the incident was nothing to be concerned about.

"Yes, I am fine. A little frightened from what I dreamt but physically I am fine." She reassured them, again trying to put on a smile to make her lie carry more weight. "Please return to your posts."

"By your leave." Ritchter responded in a defeated tone, lightly pressing his gauntleted fist to his armored chest plate and lowering his helmeted head. He held the gesture for a long moment, almost as if he was waiting for the young queen to decide to retract her previous statement. Eventually though, he turned and walked back to the end of the hall, the other guards following suit.

"Do y…you ne…need an….anything m…my Queen?" The stuttering voice of Jezebelle asked from very close by. The first syllable had given Midna a start, she didn't even remember hearing the door to the timid lady in waiting's small room adjacent to her own open; let alone how she managed to get so close to the young queen undetected. Midna simply wrote the usual happening off as her nerves causing her to not pay attention to her surroundings.

"Are any of the guest rooms ready at the moment?" The young queen asked, bringing a weary gaze up to see her personal servant looking at her with attentive golden eyes that matched the long, bright golden locks that were hanging free from her head at the moment. She also noticed that the woman had knelt down to be eye level with her, the simple brown robe she wore serving to draw all attention to her face.

"No m…my Que…Queen. Is the…there so…something wr…wrong with y…your cha…chambers that I…I can correct?" Jezebelle asked in a concerned tone.

"No." Midna answered in a low tone that had a tinge of fear imbedded in it. She hesitated before she said more but decided that she'd have to start trusting people at some point. "I just can't go back in there tonight Jezebelle." She explained as she hung her head, hoping to avoid the look of confusion that she felt would come from her lady in waiting.

"If y…you wa…want m…my Que…en," Jezebelle started in a surprisingly sympathetic tone. "I wo…would of…offer yo…you m…my ro…room fo…for the ni…night." Her lady in waiting offered before continuing in an apologetic tone. "It's n…not mu…much bu…but I…"

Midna reached her hand out and softly cupped Jezebelle's cheek in one of her slender hands, the unexpected action stopping the servant's speech with a gasp of shock. The young queen gave a warm smile to her lady in waiting, the first genuine one she'd remembered crossing her features that entire day.

"You are a good woman Jezebelle." Midna stated in a soft tone that was laced with admiration. "There are too few people like you in this world. But I could not impose on you in such a fashion."

"It's fi…fine m…my Que…Queen." The timid servant said as a blush started to cross her ashen cheeks. "I ca…can fi…find ad…adequate lo…lodging fo…for the ni…night."

"I can give you more than adequate," The young queen started as she rose to her feet, her voice much stronger in tone now. She couldn't explain it but something invigorated her about the kindness and selflessness that her timid lady in waiting had shown her. "Take my chambers for the night."

"Are y…you cer…certain m…my Que…Queen?" Jezebelle asked in a bewildered tone, her doe-like eyes wide as dinner plates.

"Yes, please." Midna said with a low bow of her head to the servant. "You are willing to give your accommodations to me so I in return offer mine to you."

"Th…Thank y…you m…my Que…Queen." The lady in waiting said in a reverent tone, a smile erupting on her usually frightened looking face.

The young queen bowed her head low once more to her servant and turned towards the smaller room. She reached for the knob on the simple looking door, giving it a turn as she looked over to her lady in waiting once more. "And Jezebelle?" She asked, calling the attention of the timid woman once more.

"Ye…Yes m…my Que…Queen?" She responded attentively.

"Have my mattress and sheets burned in the morning. Along with any of my clothing that you recall seeing me in while I was with Zant." Midna said with a satisfied edge to her voice.

"Of cou…course m…my Que…Queen." Jezebelle responded with an uncharacteristically approving light in her eyes that was quickly blinked away. The young queen wrote it off as a trick of the mind due to her lack of sleep and began to enter the small room before her lady in waiting called out to her. "My Que…Queen?" The timid servant called out.

"Yes Jezebelle?" Midna asked in a curious tone.

Her lady in waiting flashed a shy smile and held up a single finger, the gesture being a plea for the young Queen to wait for a moment. Midna's face wrinkled in confusion as the timid servant disappeared into the royal chambers. The expression was short lived though, as Jezebelle quickly reemerged from the young queen's quarters. Her small hands gingerly held the replica of the Crown of Fused Shadows out in front of her body and she stopped in front of Midna, offering the crown to her with a deeply bowed head.

"You ne…need th…this m…my Que…Queen." The lady in waiting said in a joyous tone.

"Thank you Jezebelle." The young queen said respectfully as she bowed her own head deeply to her servant and took the headpiece from her, gently cradling it in her arms as she entered the timid servant's room. She leaned against the door of the spartan quarters as it closed, tears once more flowing down her face. Though the wide smile that graced her features told the tale that these were tears of a different type.


	5. Chapter 5

Link stared into the darkness as he stood at the mouth of the cave that would lead him to the swamp, his eyes alertly scanning for some subtle sign of movement from the inky beyond. His pointed ears strained to hear the faint sounds of something hiding within the blackened veil, the hero turning his head slightly to more readily catch any noises. He finally relaxed his body somewhat, satisfied for a moment that nothing was waiting to pouncing on him from immediately within the tunnel. He drew the Master Sword from its scabbard across his back and brought the blade down on a wrist sized limb of a nearby tree. The powerful blow loosed the tree limb and it fell to the ground with the sound of rustling leaves.

He reached down to collect the fallen length of wood and held it before him in his off hand, bringing another blow down on the limb to shorten it to length that was roughly even with one of Link's arms. He sheathed the legendary long sword, instead drawing out the simple dagger that was attached to his belt. He quickly worked the small blade down the length of the thin log, using shallow chops to clean the limb of the smaller branches that clung to it. Once the wood was prepared, he stowed his dagger and withdrew a strip of thick cloth from one of the pouches on his belt.

He tucked the limb into the crook of his arm as his hands quickly tied the cloth to the end of the skinny log. With a final tug of a serve knot in the cloth, he reached back into one of his pouches and withdrew a small earthenware vial, spilling its contents on the cloth. The hero swapped the vial for a single match, striking it on the rock surrounding the cavern as he moved into the shadows. He grazed the match against the soaked cloth, the torch springing to life with dramatic effect as Link strode deeper into the tunnel.

He once more drew the Master Sword, firelight dancing off of the reflective steel of the blade, as the hero carefully advanced along the path carved out of the stone. His eyes scanned the area at the edge of the globe of light that his torch was producing; searching for even the smallest sign that something was amiss. His breathing proceeded in carefully controlled patterns, Link intentionally initiating every inhale and exhale, the scent of the burning oil from the torch filling his nostrils. Each foot fall of his boots was a careful heel to toe roll, the hero refusing to allow his own sounds mask a noise that might signal danger. Though even straining with all of his willpower, the only sounds heard were the soft crackles of the torch's fire and the occasional drip of water.

The rough stone walls of the passageway began to show deviation as a wispy white substance was seen haphazardly splattered across the walls. The cobwebs were rapidly decaying reminders of the giant arachnids he'd had to cut through when he'd first used the cavern, though Link had taken care to rid the passage of the dangerous creatures on that first occasion, the hero not wanting to be faced with the constant threat of ambush each time he traversed the tunnel. Though as he rounded a corner, it appeared that he'd not been as thorough as he'd thought he'd been.

His alert eyes snapped to a brief reflection of the fire light from eight tightly spaced but separate points just beyond the edge of the torch's reach. A smile crossed the hero's face as he realized that the creature thought it still had the advantage. Link wished he'd had the space to carry his bow with him that day, it would've made quick work of the gargantuan spider, but he'd simply have to make do with what he had. In the confined space, the advantage was with the defender so the hero figured he'd just goad the creature into going on the offensive. He ducked down to recover a large rock from the floor of the cave, a move that in all likelihood saved his life.

Pain exploded from the side of the hero's face as he'd knelt down, hearing the powerful slap of one of the giant arachnid's chelicerae snapping together. The creature had been waiting in a small vertical shaft in the ceiling and would've been successfully crushed Link's head had he not ducked when he did. As it was, one of the creature's spear-like legs had torn a ragged gash down the side of the hero's face. He knew he was wounded from the warm, wet feeling on his skin but the adrenaline that his heart was rapidly pumping through his blood left Link painless for the moment. As soon as he'd felt the blow, he'd loosed a war cry and swung the Master Sword blindly above himself in a wide arc. He heard an inhuman shriek as the blade quickly met and overcame resistance, a warm fluid raining down on the hero as he dropped his torch and spun quickly around to face the threat, his green conical hat falling from his head in the process.

There was a dull thud as the spider dropped to the stone floor, its two rear sets of legs trying to support its unbalanced weight in vain as the cleanly sliced stumps of its front two sets of legs squirmed about wildly. Link quickly spun his weapon downward, driving the blade through the crown of the beast's 'head', one of its bulbous eyes rupturing as the Master Sword slammed completely through and through the thick exoskeleton before sparking lightly as its tip connected with the rock below. The hero jerked back on the weapon, the edge ripping free from within the spider's 'face', and spun it in a defensive flourish that flung dark blue gore and viscera against the walls of the tunnel.

He continued to twirl the weapon as he spun to face the next threat, the rapid swinging of the Master Sword giving him some measure of protection as Link had no time to bring his shield into play. The giant arachnid he'd seen first was barreling towards the hero, the sharp points of its forelegs raised menacingly as it closed with Link at breakneck speeds. The hero shot towards the beast in kind, holding the blade out to his side as leaned forward, lowering his silhouette as much as possible while still maintaining his sprint. The creature sprung up off of its legs mid stride, presenting its underside as it jumped at the hero with all eight of its deadly appendages thrust out towards Link. The hero moved with lightning fast reflexes at the sight, diving at the ground to slide on his side as he held the Master Sword skyward. The blade struck the enormous spider's abdomen, the combined momentum of the two combatants causing the edge of the weapon to cleanly split the rear portion of the beast in two. The arachnid loosed a high pitched scream as it fell to the ground squirming as its innards spilled on ground.

Link drew back his weapon to finish off the giant spider when an impact stuck the blade with such force it felt as though the hero had slashed at a brick wall. He saw the Master Sword fly past his face as his arm was violently thrown back the way he'd came, the reflective steel coated in a wet gob of white silk. He used the momentum to his advantage, spinning around an almost complete circle to face the source of the webbing.

A third spider had entered the fray, raised up on its four hind legs with it's spinneret tucked under it's body and pointing at the hero like some sort of biological cannon. It's abdomen pulsed and Link instinctively ducked under the next stream of silk, the hero working to quickly free his shield. He had brought the heavy metal plate around just in time, an impact hitting it with a force that reminded the hero of a mourning star connecting with the armored shield.

Link wasted no time in shooting up from the ground and sprinting towards the creature, huddling as much of his body behind the shield as the object's size would permit. He leaned forward heavily as he dashed forward, the action being the only thing that kept him from being knocked down as more crushing blows struck the shield. The hero was upon the creature in mere seconds, sliding to a stop as one more thick stream of webbing slammed into his shield. He went with the blow once more, spinning with the impact and shooting the Master Sword outwards as he began to face the beast. The blade connected solidly with the arachnid's flank, the edge of the weapon neatly cleaving the creature's cephalothorax from its abdomen with a spray of dark blue gore, the dying spider landing in two unceremonious, twitching heaps.

The hero held his sword out where it had finally stopped in the cross body horizontal slash for a long moment, the weapon's blade dripping with the blood of the enormous arachnids, his face a euphoric mask. As the adrenaline still coursed heavily in his veins, he remained oblivious to the pain from the deep laceration that ran along the right side of his face, just beyond his eye, from inside his hairline down to his jawbone, the stream of blood that flowed from it running down his neck and staining his green tunic. The scratching sounds of the spiders death throes slowly faded from the cavern and one thought crossed the hero's mind as the grin refused to leave his features. All was right in the world.

As Link's excited nerves slowed calm thought, he began to feel mildly nauseated, the creatures had to be killed for certain, but it made him shutter at the thought of know much he'd enjoyed it. He lowered his weapon, casting a look of disgust at the blade and silently wondering when it would have its fill of blood. It was at that moment that his wound started to ache, the feeling starting out as a mild sting and slowly increasing. He leaned the Master Sword and his shield against one of the stone walls of the tunnel before putting a hand to his face. It came back caked in blood.

The hero withdrew some dressings and a small earthenware jar of salve from the pouches on his belt, spreading the salve on the white cotton dressing before pressing it to his face. He cynically chuckled as the sticky medicinal cream only seemed to intensify the burning sensation from the wound. He then withdrew a small vial from his belt and downed its contents in a single swig, the bitter tonic almost making him gag. With his self ministrations complete, he stored the healing supplies and recovered the Master Sword and his shield before crossing back to where his still burning torch lay.

"Oh by the hells." Link cursed as he bent down to the torch and noticed the burning remains of his cap laying next to the flame. He recovered the nearly destroyed headwear, waving out the flames and realizing that only one side of the portion that had fitted around his head remained. He examined scorched piece of cloth and noted there was a ragged, blood stained gash running along it. It had been from the side of his head that the spider had wounded him on. He shuttered at the thought that the beast could've easily punched through his skull had he been only a few inches to the side.

He stared down at the charred remains of part of the garment that the light spirit Ordona had bestowed on him and contemplated his mortality. He didn't want to die, he knew that much, but he didn't know why. It wasn't because he was worried about what lie beyond death, after all he'd been through in the past few months, even a heretic wouldn't be able to deny the truth of the Goddesses. He wasn't worried about never seeing Ilia again, he knew he'd see her in the afterlife. In fact it wouldn't be bad at all. His father would be there, he would finally meet his mother. If anything, when he died it would be a joyous occasion.

So why was it he so ardently wanted to yet live? He had no children that would become bastards, no tradeless wife who would become a pauper without his support, not even an ancestral home that would fall into disrepair. No one counted on him for much of anything. So why did he feel as if he couldn't go yet? A strange feeling came over him that he was being watched, though oddly enough, he didn't feel that he was in any immediate danger. Another cold chill wracked him to the core. He stuffed the damaged cloth into a pouch and retrieved the torch from the stone floor.

He used the torch to burn away the gooey silk that clung to his sword and shield, returning the latter to its stowed position on his back once it was cleaned of the webbing. The hero started back down the rocky pathway when he stopped himself, his eyes drawn to the lifeless corpses of the spiders as a slight sneer crossed his features. He was in no mood for further surprises. He held the torch out to one of the walls, placing the flame to network of old cobwebs and new silk that lined the walls and ceiling of the passageway, the wispy lines quickly catching fire. He then proceeded down the tunnel, Master Sword at the ready as the surfaces around him flickered with a thin sheet of flame.

The hero emerged into the shadowy swamp beyond the passageway, the forlorn looking landscape's tall, vine choked trees blotting out most of the morning sunlight. A slight smile crossed his features, he'd never thought he'd be happy to see the shallow, murky water of the insect infested bog. He remembered the unholy black fog that had taken place of the water during the curse, the dark substance seeming to pull the very life force from a man's bones. Thankfully, it was back to just being an awful place to pass through instead of being a nightmarish place to attempt to survive.

He dipped his torch in a near by pool of muddy water, leaving the smoldering light source near the entrance to the cave for his return trip. Link then made his way over to the decrepit docks at the edge of the water, carefully testing his weight in one of the lichen coated boats before deciding it was safe to travel in. He rowed the small craft across the surface of the cloudy water, his only opponents being a swarm of mosquitoes and gnats. He reached another set of docks in no time at all, tying up the hazardous looking boat before stepping onto land and proceeding through a nearby break in the trees.

"Howdy stranger!" A high-pitched voice called out before adding a whistle.

"Hold your tongue for once stupid bird." A gruff voice chided the first. "Lest I remember how delicious avian meat is."

"In the pot! In the pot!" The squeaky voice returned with another whistle.

Link looked over to see the modest camp of Doro, a rough and tumble but good humored hermit that lived out in the wilds. The large man was sitting on a stool at his camp fire, turning the crank of a rotisserie with some sort of wild pig on the spit, and arguing with the strange bird he kept as a pet, Trill. The hermit looked in the direction the hero had entered from, his jovial looking brown eyes falling on Link.

"Ha!" He'd shouted a boisterous tone, shooting up a large hand in a friendly wave. "I was wondering when you'd drop by a again."

"How does the day find you Doro?" The hero asked with a warm smile as he approached the single tent campsite.

"It finds-" He'd begun before cutting himself off when Link had closed the distance enough for the hermit to notice the bloodstained dressings on the hero's face, the crusty, dark crimson blotch on his tunic's collar, and the small splatters of dark blue arachnid blood all over his clothes. "Whoa!" He'd begun again in a bewildered tone. "What in the hells happened to you?!"

"I didn't agree with something that ate me." Link quipped as he sat down on roughly carved wooden stool close to the fire.

"Ha!" Doro shouted heartily, with a tug of his unruly brown beard. "You're all right! Care for some breakfast? It'll be done soon." The large hermit offered, idly scratching at his bare scalp.

"No thank you." The hero offered with a polite bow of his head. "I've got important business this morning. Are my ropes still up?" He asked jerking his head towards a ravine close by.

"Ha! Always up to something you are!" He replied with slap of his knee that sounded so powerful it seemed unnatural for the large hermit to not cry out. "But yes, those ropes of yours are still standing."

"Thank you. I must take my leave now." Link said as he stood, his attention towards the near by cliff.

"Stop by again when you've got more time!" Doro called out over his shoulder, the large man's attention not firmly back to the meal he was preparing. "And if you see that skinny little clean shaven bother of mine, hurl some insults at him! Let him know his bearded big brother sends his greetings!"

"Catch ya later! Catch ya later!" Trill added with a whistle.

The hero chuckled slightly as the large hermit referred to the good natured ribbing he always tried to pass on to his sibling, Coro, but the smile quickly faded as Link reached the edge of the ravine and his mind returned to matters at hand. He looked out across the chasm, his eyes confirming what Doro had said as he saw the network of single ropes that stretched out from the stout braches of the ancient trees that towered up from the ground below. He walked over to where the first length of rope began, encircling a large oak tree that shared the higher ground that the hero stood on. He gave the thick hempen cord a tug, ensuring it was still strong and tightly stretched.

Link remembered what a difficult task it was to set up the system in the first place. He and Rusl, a former Hyrulian soldier who'd moved to Ordon last year looking for the simple life, had gone through a daring process of the two ferrying rope from tree to tree by way of the clawshot tools he'd found in various temples. It was an experience that was exhilarating and terrifying all at the same time. It was also the sole reason the hero had brought along the clawshot, just in case the ropes had frayed or been cut. A part of Link wished the ropes had been tampered with so he'd have reason to repeat the acrobatic insanities. But the hero just wrote it off as nostalgia.

He removed the length of rope he'd brought along with him from his belt, and began to wrap it around his pelvis in the systematic, intricate pattern Rusl had taught the hero. A 'mountain seat' the former soldier had called it. Link liked to refer to it as 'damned uncomfortable'. Still it was a marvel for it's purpose and the hero meant to one day ask Rusl where he'd learned it. As Link finished the final knot of the hempen creation, he attached one of the metal clips on his belt, close to the buckle, to the 'seat' before approaching the rope that led across the ravine.

The hero raised up on his toes to bring the metal clip that was attached to both his belt and the 'seat' close to the rope, The metal device snapped in place and Link brought his feet up, leaving him suspended below the rope. He wrapped the ankles of his boots around the top of the rope and reached out, alternating one gauntleted hand out in front of the other as he pulled himself across the rope. Link continued this process until he'd crossed the entire length of the rope to a tall tree that stretched up from the ground at the floor of the ravine. He unhooked himself from the rope, crossed over to the next rope tied to the same tree and attached himself to that strand, repeating the processes time and time again until he reached the other side of the ravine and took off the complex 'seat'.

After securing the length of rope in a tight coil and clipping it back to his belt, the hero slipped the shield free of his back, tightening the traveling straps along the inner face of the steel plate before taking hold of the thick leather handles that were bolted onto its back side. He flexed his gauntleted hand around the well worn cowhide, working the stiffness out of his fingers before clamping his fist down tightly on the leather. Satisfied with the shield, he drew out the Master Sword, a ray of sunlight filtering through the treetops glinting off of the polished steel blade. He again worked his fingers around the blue velvet wrapped hilt, placing importance on being able to comfortably maintain a strong hold on the weapon. He closed his eyes and took in a few deep, steady breaths. After a short moment his eyes snapped opened in a narrowed gaze, a hardened edge visible in his usually soft blue eyes. The giant arachnids in the tunnels had caught him by surprise but this time, he knew he was charging headlong into battle. And he was ready for it.

He made his way carefully forward, sword and shield at the ready as he passed through a thin wall of shrubs and underbrush and stepped into the dense forest beyond. Stretching before him was a weed choked cobblestone path that carved through the surrounding woodlands, but the derelict walkway was in an excellent state of repair when compared to the other ruins that dotted the area. Unidentifiable collections of crumbling stone blocks, shot through with wispy tendrils of ivy were spaced regularly across the landscape and when coupled with the vegetation, it appeared as if nature had a special interest in reclaiming this particular plot of land. The tall trees sported numerous thick limbs which had punched through some of the higher stone walls that still stood and the lily pad filled low pools of water conspired to flood the shallow pits that held the fallen piles of building materials.

"Oh I just knew you'd come back to play!" A high pitched voice squealed out in delight, the sound echoing off of the ruins and trees, making the location of the speaker impossible to detect. A horn began blaring a jaunty tune, the seemingly innocent noise causing Link's heartbeat to rise as he frantically searched for signs of the hidden musician. His gaze darted frantically from one crumbling structure to another, one low branch to the next. Unable spot to the speaker anywhere, the hero bolted down the half-obscured cobblestone, trying to eat up as much of the distance between him and his goal before the first attack came.

Link didn't get far before he heard a noise that sounded like leaves being violently tossed about in the heart of a fierce storm and saw four shadows on the ground that were growing larger at an alarming rate. He slid to a stop and prepared for the coming attack, bringing the Master Sword cross his body and readying it to strike while he pinned his shield tightly to his opposite side. In a heartbeat, he was surrounded as four man-shaped and sized marionette-like creatures landed in a circle around him, insane grins and burning red eyes focused on the hero.

Link let the blow he'd cocked back in preparation fly, the blade traveling in a wide arc that sliced though the necks of two of the monstrosities, loping their wooden heads from their bodies with a noticeable lack of any blood spray accompanying the blow. Even before the still grinning heads of the first pair of golems had hit the ground, the hero felt his body jerked sideways as a powerful blow landed against his shield. His eyes snapped towards the other two creatures and saw one bending forward with a clenched fist, still on the follow through of its blow, while the second had put its hands together and was raising them high above its head in preparation for a shot to the hero's skull.

He squatted low as he spun around; keeping his shield oriented at the wooden constructs, and straightening out his sword arm for a strike. The Master Sword connected with the thin thigh of the creature nearest his weapon, Link standing to turn the attack into an upwards diagonal slash that wreaked havoc on the bodies of the golems. The edge of the blade cleanly cleaved the thigh of first creature it struck, the arc continuing up to lop the other leg off at the hip. The blade tore free from the monster's pelvis with a shower of splinters and severed the next construct's thin arm just below the elbow before it struck the creature's torso with a dull thud, the thick wood of its trunk serving to jerk the sword to a stop after cutting a six inch gash into the golem's flank.

Link hissed out a curse as the impaled creature started to swipe at the hero's face with a claw like hand, coming up short by mere inches as an insane laugh emanated from the beast. Link frantically tried to free the blade wedged into the gut of the construct with his upper body strength alone but to no avail. "Thrice damned unliving beast!" The hero cursed in anger and frustration as he pulled the Master Sword tighter to his body and lashed out a powerful kick at the monster's opposite flank, the push/pull action of the move freeing the weapon from the creature's torso. The blow forced the golem to stumble backwards heavily and Link started to shift his weight forward, even before the foot he'd kicked with was back on the ground, to pursue the construct but his balance was stolen from him as something knocked his other leg out from under him.

The hero fell hard onto his back, the Ordon Sword still sheathed across it sending a jolt of pain into his spine, and he was immediately set upon by the golem he'd hacked the legs off of. The monster tightened its spindly fingers of one hand around Link's neck, while the other claw-like hand was raised high as the creature reared back to strike. The hero shot his shield arm towards the side of the construct's head, the edge of the heavy metal plate connecting with the golem's temple with a dull thud and knocking the creature to the side. The pointed fingers of the hand around the hero's throat left shallow scratches as the monster was forced away. Link quickly spun on his back to draw his feet up under him, a cough escaping his lips as he sprang up and blindly swung the Master Sword in a downward arc. He felt resistance as the weapon completed its swing, a quick glance revealing the severed head of the wooden golem rolling away from the legless body and landing in one of the shallow pools with a muted splash.

Link remembered the final creature that he'd had to free his weapon from and spun in the direction he'd last seen the construct, swinging the Master Sword in a defensive flourish as he turned. Much to the hero's surprise, he felt a brief resistance in the hilt of the sword and saw the now armless figure of the monster as his eyes caught up to his body. The simple-minded golem just stood in confusion, unsure of how to attack without its claws, though a wild laugh still projected forth from the creature. Link didn't wait to see if it would figure something out. He threw his body into another spin, bringing the Master Sword around with a war cry as he neatly sliced through the construct's neck.

The hero used the momentum of the killing blow to orient himself in the right direction of his goal and again took off down the path at a dead sprint. He hadn't moved more than a few dozen feet away from the site of his first battle with the golems when he detected the tell-tale signs of another group of the constructs descending from the trees above. Link decided he'd had enough of the strange creatures. He sheathed his weapon in a lightning quick motion and then shot his freed hand to one of the heavy pouches on his belt and withdrew an orange-sized bomb. The hero brought the explosive device to his face and bit through the fuse as he squatted down. He spat out the excess wick and retrieved a match from one of his pouches, striking it on the cobblestones at his feet. He took a quick glance skyward, seeing five of the wooden golem rapidly hurling towards the ground, and pressed the flaming match to the dangerously short bomb fuse.

Link let the black powder filled iron ball drop to the ground as he pushed off of his feet with all his might and dove behind a nearby tree, flattening his body as much as possible against the ground. There was a sharp, thunderous explosion that rattled the hero's teeth, the constructs that had just hit the ground disappearing in a dull blossom of smoke and fire. The hero violently shook his head as he struggled to his feet, silently promising himself to never attempt such a thing again. Small bits of shrapnel, wood splinters, crushed rock, and clumps of soil still rained down on the area as Link started to take off running again when his eyes caught movement in a nearby low tree watched as a smaller wooden golem that resembled a child of roughly 12 summers skipped along the tree limb, the creature still blowing out the upbeat tune on its horn. Link remembered what a hard-fought battle it had been in the past to muscle his way through the never ending waves of the child-golem's minion constructs before cornering the strange monster and causing it to cease the attacks of its underlings. The hero wasn't in the mood for that today. He quickly freed the claw shot from the metal clip on his belt and thrust his arm towards the small wooden golem as his finger squeezed the level that loosed the claw.

The tool's spring violently shot the claw forward, the arms of the device snapping apart to eagerly take hold of whatever it collided with. A heavy clanking sound filled the air as the chain connecting the claw to the launcher rapidly unspooled. The strange creature looked towards the noise and a gasp of shock was heard as it saw the open mechanical hand barreling towards it. The claw connected with the golem and the arms snapped shut over creature's diminutive torso, the power of the blow causing the monster to stumble backwards and drop the horn that it had clutched in its hand. Link quickly jerked his arm back and hit another lever that released the hold on the spring loaded pulley, the complex clockworks of the tool quickly pulling the slack from the chain and jerking the claw back towards the launcher. A startled yelp sounded out from the golem as it was pulled back towards link with a surprising speed.

The hero drew the clawshot in tight to his side and protectively maneuvered his shield to face frontwards as the body of the golem rapidly closed with Link. He dug his heels into the ground and leaned into the shield in preparation for the coming impact. The construct collided with the hero's shield, the creature making a sound as if air was being painfully forced from lungs before falling to the ground in a heap. Link let go of the clawshot and drew the Master Sword, heavily driving a boot into the golem's chest to pin it to the ground.

"I have no time for your sadistic 'games' creature." Link growled as he rested the tip of his blade against the center of the construct's neck.

"Aw!" The creature exclaimed in a voice like a disappointed child, its wooden features shifting into a frown with a sound like tree limbs shifting in the wind. "But I was having so much fun!"

"Your 'fun' almost gets me killed every time I pass through this thrice damned forest!" The hero spat venomously in return.

"But it never does, now does it?" The golem said in a smug voice, the monster crossing its arms with no mind to Link's foot or the claw that still grasped its chest and letting out what sounded like an impatient huff of air.

The hero opened his mouth to let loose a retort, but his mouth simply hung open in silence as he pondered the construct's words. Thinking back on the times he'd been through the forested ruins before, he remembered multiple times that the child-golem's minions had the drop on Link but something either clumsy on their part or fortuitous on the hero's part had prevented what seemed like certain death. Could the strange creature's words be true? Was it indeed just roughly 'playing' with him and not just a psychotic monster trying to kill someone that had wandered into its territory? Link shook his head to clear it of the thoughts that clouded his mind.

"Regardless, I am trying to return the Master Sword and I don't have the patience for interruptions." The hero finally replied in a slightly softer tone, removing the blade from the construct's neck though keeping it near its throat in case it was intentionally trying to fuddle Link's mind as part of a ploy.

"Fine, fine." The golem conceded; the sound of bending wood heard again as it rolled its dark red eyes. "I guess you did catch me," It elaborated before using a slender finger to flick the claw that had captured it. "Even if you did cheat."

The next thing the hero realized, he was still in the exact same body position but the construct had disappeared from beneath him, the completely retracted and closed clawshot lying on the ground where the odd creature's chest had been. He looked around with a start as he noticed that the air immediately surrounding him was thick with green leaves that fell slowly to the ground and he was no longer where he'd been a blink of an eye ago. As the last of the leaves drifted softly to the ground, he took in his new surroundings, realizing that he stood on the strangely pristine white marble dais that encircled the squat pedestal upon which he'd found the Master Sword.

Link approached the pedestal and stared down at the narrow slot cut into the stone in which the legendary blade rested. He felt a sense of sadness wash over him and he found himself reluctant to return the weapon. Was this really what he wanted, to discard such a powerful instrument of justice and righteousness? And why did he want to do it? What possible reason was there that was so important that it demanded this great a sacrifice? The hero felt his grip around the velvet wrapped hilt tighten, his body fighting against his own will to retain the sword.

"No." Link said in a determined voice to no one but himself. "This is what I want. I want my life back." He flourished the blade one final time, flinging the shield on his off hand out of his grasp, before angling the weapon down and taking the hilt in both his hands. "Be gone!" He commanded as he dropped to a knee and thrust the blade back into its true home. A shower of sparks exploded up from the pedestal as the Master Sword was slammed back into its resting place, a deep ringing of struck steel echoing off of the half destroyed walls of the ruins.

The hero's hands still gripped the ornate hilt of the legendary weapon for a long moment, the echo of the strike still reverberating from his surroundings. Slowly his hands slipped from the sword and he stood, his features a strange mask of melancholy satisfaction. He took a final, long gaze at the blade before turning to recover his shield.

"What if you're wrong?" A voice questioned in a carefully measured tone. Link spun around quickly, his hand shooting the hilt of the Ordon Sword as he frantically searched for the speaker. A look of shock crossed the hero's features as he slipped his hand from the weapon on his back and realized that he'd asked himself the question aloud.

"Well," He spoke, feeling silly answering himself but having a strong feeling as though some part of him had demanded an answer. "I can always retrieve it if I—" He'd started as he crossed to the Master Sword and pulled upwards on the hilt, but withdrew his hand as if he'd stuck it in boiling water as he realized that the weapon did not budge. The hero rationalized that he must've driven the blade in harder than he'd thought. He stepped even closer to the blade, planting his feet on the pedestal and taking a firm grip on the hilt. He pushed off with his legs and pulled with his arms, but the sword did not move. He loosed a war cry as he threw all of his might into the task, perspiration springing to life on his face as he tried to free the weapon as if his life depended on it. The Master Sword, the ancient, legendary blade wielded only by the chosen of the three Goddesses to defeat the very forces of evil itself, did not move.

Link collapsed onto the smooth marble of the dais, feeling as though an arrow had just pierced his heart. And in a way, a part of him was rapidly dying. He realized the folly of his actions with an unadulterated horror. He'd rejected the Master Sword and now the Master Sword rejected him. He suddenly felt light headed and nauseous, he awkwardly rose to his feet and quickly retreated from the pedestal, stopping only to scoop up his shield and the clawshot as he moved off of the dais. As he cleared the last bit of unblemished marble, he found himself slowly recovering from the physical symptoms that had afflicted him, though the feeling that he'd just made an awful mistake refused to abate.


	6. Chapter 6

"I tell you, she is unfit to rule." The middle aged Twili woman spoke in a low tone, careful that the conversation did not carry past her and her companion as they walked along the cobblestone path in the Twilight Place gardens.

"You speak of treason Duchess." A similarly aged Twili man replied with a sour look on his rough features as he idly smoothed his bushy red moustache in an attempt to soothe the temper that was beginning to flare up as the meeting between the two nobles started down a dangerous road.

"Correct." The woman conceded in a frank tone, her voice making it sound as though she was discussing the mundane. She swung her pale green eyes at the slightly shorter man that accompanied her. "I do not deny the implications of my words. But you must ask yourself my good Lord Reginald, what is the greater treason? To plot to replace an inexperienced ruler with one that is infinitely more able? Or to do nothing at all and let your people fall into hardship for the sake of nostalgic sentiment?"

"We simply have not given her enough time." Reginald replied, tugging at the collar of the dull gray waist coat he wore as his body heat rose, the thoughts of betrayal as much a culprit as the uncomfortably hot air that hung over the gardens.

"It has been ten days." The Duchess responded with a sigh as she slid her slender fingers past her temples to ensure that her long black hair was still tucked behind her ears. "But in those ten days she has been observed conducting herself in unusual manners."

"And just what 'unusual manners' would those be my dear Duchess Ekaterina?" The stocky nobleman asked, putting a slightly mocking emphasis on his words.

"Don't be obtuse old friend." She chided with a narrowing of her eyes. "I'm sure you've heard the rumors."

"Humor an 'old friend'." Reginald replied in a tone that bordered on venomous.

"Very well," Ekaterina stated with an annoyed huff of breath, her ashen hands smoothing down the front of her muted purple velvet dress. "To start with she destroyed the Mirror of Twilight."

"You want to depose her for destroying an unused artifact that few even realized existed?" He questioned with a hearty laugh.

"That is not the point." She shot back in a spiteful tone, the braid that stretched to her buttocks being flung to the side as she snapped her head towards the stocky nobleman. "It could have one day been an important conduit for diplomacy or trade with the light realm and she destroyed it for what?"

"To protect us perhaps?" He asked in rhetorical manner.

"Doubtful." The slender noblewoman replied as she regained her composure, adjusting the decorative belt of golden rings that hung low across her hips. "If there was danger on the other side of the portal then she would've been joyous at the shattering of the mirror. Instead she quickly retreated into the one of the rooms in the Fane of the Winds and wept for nearly an hour. If anything it sounds as if it was a perceived bittersweet vengeance against some aspect of the light realm that had vexed the fickle child."

"Unusual to be sure." Reginald answered in a slightly more sympathetic tone, one of his large hands rubbing at his clean shaven chin and jaw.

"Then once she arrived at the Palace," Ekaterina continued, gesturing towards the main keep that towered over the hedgerows. "She took the High Pontifex into her arms and has since seemed to take frequent council from the priest to the exclusion of all others."

"You're angry because she doesn't heed your words?" The stocky nobleman asked, his disbelief in the Duchess's accusations rising once more.

"No Reginald." The slender noblewoman replied through gritted teeth, though otherwise controlling the anger she'd felt towards the other noble's comments. The man seemed unable to separate himself from the petty squabbles that most of the ruling class attributed everyone's motivations to. "While the High Pontifex is indeed a wise sage, he is still simply a priest. Not a statesman, nor a general, nor a merchant. He is only feeding her flights of fancy with the way things should be, not the way they are. Such an unrealistic method of approaching matters of importance will doom our people to failure and unfair compromise."

"Sensible enough." He replied with a slow nod of agreement.

"Not to mention her conduct at the ceremony for King Devlin and Queen Ophelia." Ekaterina stated as she idly rolled the golden pendant hanging from her neck between her thumb and forefinger.

'Oh for the sake of the Pantheon, the poor girl had to bury her father and mother only a week after her return!" The stocky nobleman retorted with a roll of his eyes.

"You've say it perfectly." The duchess replied with a curt nod. "That's all she was out there, a 'poor girl burying her mother and father', not a queen. She was so overcome with her own grief that she didn't even eulogize them. After laying the flowers, she fled instead of staying with the nobles in a show of solidarity. And did you see the way her servant startled her? My senses tell me that she was likely standing there with her eyes shut in an attempt to simply wish the reality of it away."

"Such is the way one responds to loss Duchess." Reginald scolded as his eyes narrowed ever so slightly.

"It is not the way a queen should respond to loss." Ekaterina shot back in an equally condescending tone. "Tragedy is a fact of life, more so when you are responsible for an entire Kingdom. Say the barbarians begin raiding in force once more and thousands of lives are lost, heads of the vanquished sent back to the Palace to sow fear. Would the girl lock herself in her chambers and weep while wishing that barbarians would stop? A queen should be able to stand before the very gates of the Underworld itself and not flinch. A people must know that their ruler cannot be fazed and will remain steadfast in seeing to their protection and welfare."

The duchess glanced over and saw that the only response from the stocky noble was his jaw becoming tightly clenched, the nobleman apparently in reluctant concurrence with the slender noblewoman. A slight smile tugged at the edge of Ekaterina's lips but she willed the expression away and continued with her argument. "And apparently she has been wracked with horrible nightmares that she is unable to control."

"What?" Reginald replied in shock as he turned his red eyes directly to the duchess.

"It's true." Ekaterina explained in an almost apologetic tone. "The other night she had burst from her room and collapsed on the floor with enough force to cause the Royal Guard to sound an alarm."

"I had heard of no such thing." The stocky nobleman said in a tone that one would attribute to a gossip.

"It is indeed the part that alarms me the most." The slender noblewoman admitted with a sigh. "She'd waved the guards off and explained that she was just having nightmares. Then she refused to return to her room, instead laying her head in a mere servant's quarters that eve. Then in the morn, she had her bedding and clothes burned."

"That is indeed troubling." Reginald admitted as he stroked his moustache once more.

"Quite." Ekaterina agreed with a slight bow of her head. "I fear that with all she had been through, she has begun to lose her grip on sanity."

"It would seem that way." The stocky noble replied in a somber tone, a heavy sigh pushing past his lips.

"So will I have your support if I ask her to renounce her claim to the throne?" The duchess asked as she eased to a stop and turned to face her coconspirator.

"I wish it were not so." The nobleman replied in a melancholy voice, his eyes searching the gardens around the two Twili as if he was seeking some sort of sign that it was nothing but a fabrication that the woman had thought up. He tightly closed his eyes for a moment and blew out a heavy exhale. His eyes reopened with a determined light to them. "But since it is so, then I will do what I must and support your bid to take up the crown."

Reginald turned to leave but Ekaterina reached out and took a hold of his forearm to delay his departure for a final moment. "Thank you Lord Reginald. I shall see to it that you and your people are rewarded." She spoke in a grateful tone, deeply bowing her head in respect for the fellow noble.

"Heap your rewards on the people of my Parrish if you will, but not me." The stocky noble said as he regarded the duchess with a hard look. "I will hold my seat long enough to support your actions in asking the Queen to step down but after that I am through with politicking. My sons may squabble over the title if they wish but I shall retreat to the mountains spend my remaining years free of these honor less plots and intrigue." With his final say on the matter out, Reginald slipped his arm from Ekaterina's grasp and walked on down the path with his head held low.

The duchess stood in silence for a long moment, her slender hand still extended and partially curled as if the stocky nobleman's arm was still in her grasp. However she quickly came to her senses once more as she felt a presence coming up from behind her and gracefully folded her hands on top of one another at a low point on her slim abdomen. The feeling was best described as the onset of a cold chill or the sensation that one was being watched in a predatory fashion. Despite the feeling Ekaterina did not panic; even when a deep, gravelly voice sounded out from behind her.

"I feel as though that one could prove troublesome." The voice spoke out in a disdainful tone.

"You have nothing to fear," The duchess said in a soothing tone. "He is still a soldier at heart. He will follow whatever orders are in the best interest of the masses. I have shown him the truth in the need to have Midna step down. He will plant himself firmly in our camp when the time comes. As for what he does after the fact, that is no one's business but his own."

As Ekaterina finished speaking she turned to see the imposing form of her personal bodyguard, Raze, a warrior from one of the barbarian tribes beyond the edge of the kingdom. The man stood nearly a head taller than the duchess and had a powerfully built frame but despite his wild origins, he was still physically the same as the civilized Twili. The only overt sign of his heritage was the crude, stylized skull tattoo that had been placed over his entire face, the intimidating symbol glowing with a pale blue light. His large, chain mail encased arms were folded impatiently across the elaborate carvings on the breastplate he wore, the black steel armor causing all attention to be focused on his fiery red eyes and an unruly shock of dull white hair that spilled away from his ashen scalp in rope-like braids.

"You so readily trust the lap dog to turn on its master?" Raze questioned in a bemused tone.

"I would think you'd understand the heart of a fellow warrior better than that." Ekaterina retorted, becoming slightly defensive about Reginald.

"Bah!" The barbarian spat and swung his hate filled eyes to the corner in the hedgerows that the stocky noble had turned down. "He and I are not the same. A soldier is a little more than a trade less leech who plays the part of a paper tiger to grow fat from his master's larder and who wishes to never actually have to enter battle. A true warrior is a ruthless hunter of men that prays for war so that he may hone the art of death."

"And yet you answer to me and prosper from the gold I trade for your protection." The duchess said in a mildly venomous tone. "Perhaps you and he are indeed closer than you think."

Raze growled his displeasure at the slender noblewoman, the barbarian drawing his hands into fists so tight that his knuckled cracked. "You should think heavily on hurling future insults." He spoke in an even tone, letting the thinly veiled threat hang between them for a long moment before he continued. "But enough of this, do you have sufficient backing now to proceed?"

"Yes." Ekaterina replied with a curt nod. "I will go to see her now, but you will not be joining me."

"You pay me to protect you don't you?" Raze stated in a condescending tone.

"Indeed." The duchess concurred briefly before explaining further. "But you are hardly an effective negotiating tool. I want her to step down, not think that she's about to be assassinated and strike me down with the magic she possesses as the bearer of the Crown of Fused Shadows."

"As you wish." The barbarian grumbled in displeasure. "Though just killing her would be more effective."

"And that sort of thought process is the exact reasoning why it is I and not you who make decisions." Ekaterina retorted with narrowed eyes before turning and beginning to walk towards the main keep of the palace.

* * *

Duchess Ekaterina strode forward purposefully as the massive iron door swung inwardly, moving quickly to the center of the cavernous room that served as the meeting place for the entire court of the Twilight Kingdom. The chamber was arranged in a half circle whose curved portion featured several rows of ornately carved wood benches arranged in stadium seating fashion that were topped with beautifully embroidered overstuffed cushions whose colors and patterns were chosen by the nobles who would occupy those seats. The room itself was constructed out of rare white marble, the bright surface contrasted on the stairways by dark purple rugs that lead down to the main floor, which featured a black marble and gold inlay of a scene depicting the founding of the Twilight Kingdom. The opposite side of the room featured a wall that was home to towering windows that displayed the roiling dark clouds outside alongside tall banners featuring the royal seal. Near the floor was a dais raised to the average height of a full grown man that was meant for the sitting monarchs of the Twilight Kingdom. On that dais currently sat a single throne, the seat of power currently a simple, blackened wood with black velvet cushions.

The Duchess slowed her pace at the sight of the throne being empty, her green eyes searching the room for signs of the young Queen. She finally noticed an athletic figure leaning against the rear wall and staring out of one of the windows, the form hugging its arms around itself. The figure jumped with a slight startle as the heavy iron door shut. The form detached itself from the shadows near the wall and moved towards the short staircase leading down to the main floor. As the figure entered the light, it was confirmed to indeed be Queen Midna.

Ekaterina was pleasantly surprised to see that the young woman had again chosen more conservative attire, the young queen sporting a black silk dress that covered her entire body with the exception of a neckline that plunged down to a sharp point between her breasts and a cut that ran the entire length of both arms and shoulders, the slit loosely tied by thin cords that were spaced far apart. A black leather corset encircled her torso from just beneath her breasts to mid way down her hips, the garment severely laced up the front, a bow tie knot hanging loosely from the top of it. The duchess also noticed from the sound of Midna's footfalls that she was actually wearing boots instead of going barefoot. She may not have been dressed like a proper queen but at least she no longer was clad in clothing that made her look like an expensive trollop. Though in all honesty, the part of her wardrobe that drew the most attention was the dark gray crown that rested atop her head.

The duchess reached the main floor as the young queen descended the final steps to it, the room's firelight glinting off of the tightly spaced square silver plates that made up the young woman's decorative belt. Midna smiled warmly as she crossed the remaining distance of the main floor of the chamber to stop a few feet in front of the duchess.

"Thank you for receiving me my Queen." Ekaterina said as she took hold of the edges of her muted purple dress and deeply curtseyed to Midna. She realized the irony but thought that there was no sense in not being polite to another, regardless of the purpose for an audience.

"The pleasure is all mine Duchess Ekaterina." Midna replied in a friendly tone, touching her hand to her chest and bowing her head in return. The duchess thought she detected a hint of sadness still present in the young queen's voice, a suspicion that was confirmed as she looked up and noticed that her smile didn't reach her eyes. "I must thank you for your generosity in the past few days. The Twilight Palace and its grounds would not be as safe as they are now without the addition of the soldiers you have graciously allowed to be stationed here until we can rebuild the ranks of the guard force."

"I gladly serve the Kingdom in any way I can your highness." Ekaterina admitted with a bow of her head. A part of the duchess again found dark humor in her statement but it was true, she did want to work for the betterment of the kingdom. It was just a labor that sometimes required unpleasant steps.

"So what I can do for you and your Province this day?" The young queen asked in an attentive tone.

"To be perfectly honest your highness there are heavy matters I must discuss with you." Ekaterina stated, her tone turning grave.

"Oh? Should I involve anyone else in this conference?" Midna asked, her face showing a look of surprise and concern.

"No. These matters involve you alone." The duchess stated flatly, a silence falling between the two nobles as the implications sunk in. Finally Ekaterina took a deep breath and spoke in an authoritarian tone. "I come on behalf of the noble houses to ask that you step down and relinquish the crown."

One of Midna's hands shot to her mouth and her ashen features grew even paler, her eyes appearing like that of a startled doe. The duchess knew that the young queen's mental state was a guilt wracked mess of low self-esteem right now so she pressed the attack, hoping to keep the young woman off balance. "We have all seen signs that you are unfit to rule, you are hopelessly grief-stricken and at a loss without King Devlin and Queen Ophelia. You have shunned all advice save that of the High Pontifex and have developed a warped sense of how royalty should behave."

Ekaterina noticed as she spoke that the hand was slowly dropping from Midna's mouth, an embarrassed blush coloring her cheeks as her gaze started to lose its surprised edge. Even as the young queen's lips began to quiver, the duchess kept the pressure up thinking that she had Midna ready to break down and weep. "Further more we have begun to see signs that your mental faculties are growing insta---"

"SILENCE!" The young queen bellowed in a voice that seemed impossibly loud and forceful for her to achieve; her hand cocking back with lightning quick reflexes in preparation to backhand Ekaterina. It was the duchess's turn to look shocked, realizing that what she'd thought was building guilt and embarrassment was actually a fiery rage that judging from the hate radiating off of Midna's hardened gaze, might be the last mistake the slender noblewoman would ever have the opportunity to make. She braced herself for the powerful strike, tensing the muscles in her face and tightly closing her eyes.

The blow never came, and Ekaterina slowly opened an eye to see the young queen still standing before her in a fury, still ready to let the blow fly. The duchess was standing on the edge of a maelstrom of barely repressed murderous intent but something compelled her to try to continue to make her case, she blurted out her words in rapid fire succession. "Your highness, we just seek what is best for the people and we can tell that it is not fair to the masses to have such an inexper---""SHUT UP!" Midna shouted at a volume that seemed to rival a cannon shot. "Are you colossally stupid!?" The young queen barked out, her own words now becoming the a flurry of tightly spaced sounds. "We've just survived regicide and a civil war and you want to plunge us right back into one so you can grab at straws of power?! You come here, you insult me, you act as if the loss of my parents means nothing, you act as if I was happily resting in the lap of luxury while the Kingdom burned, all while invoking the names of 'other nobles' that are conspicuously absent from your side as you throw about treasonous accusations!"

"Your highness I--" Ekaterina started in a shaky voice.

"BE QUIET PANTHEON DAMN YOU!" Midna forcefully commanded. "Shut your damned mouth or Pantheon help me I will tear your innards out with my bare hands!" The young queen's hands were no longer prepared to slap the duchess, instead they were now extended like claws and ready at her sides. There was no doubt in Ekaterina's mind that Midna was completely serious about the promise to maul her like a wild beast. "You're nothing but a damned vulture! You waited until you had gotten close, performed actions to earn my trust, and then betrayed me! You're just like that son of a bitch Zant!" The young queen spat out in her venomous tone. She continued, her volume dropping though the rage in her voice was still burning like the fires of the underworld themselves. "I will not have the throne that my parents died for sat on by another usurper. Get out." She ordered, her voice beginning to sound weary as she jabbed an angry finger towards the exit.

"I think yo---" The duchess began in a stammering voice.

"LEAVE!" Midna shouted, her voice turning thunderous again.

It was clear to Ekaterina now that the intention of having the young queen step down peaceably on the urging of the nobility alone was not going to happen. Midna had too much paranoid hatred in her heart to listen to reason. She'd apparently grown to see herself as an embattled guardian protecting the legacy of her bloodline. The duchess turned and started back towards the massive iron doors of the chamber entrance, not bothering with the measures of politeness, believing they were lost on the mad queen.

The slender noblewoman quickly ascended the stairway, feeling the heat from Midna's gaze on her back, her thoughts already scheming a method to utilize in pressing forward to remove the young queen from the position she was not fit for. She deplored assassination, especially since a small part of her did indeed sympathize with how Midna's mind had fractured under the stress. Unfortunately though, the young queen's reaction to this offer removed many peaceful options from the table.

Ekaterina smiled to herself as the heavy doors swung open to let her out of the room, her mind drifting to the thought of the one person the young queen would still listen to. If she could convince him of the dangers that Midna posed to the kingdom, there might still be a way to avoid bloodshed.

* * *

Raze looked down on the exchange with an amused expression, seeing the wisp of a girl dressing down the pompous noble was a small measure of satisfaction. He could almost admire the way the young woman could wield anger, hers was an unadulterated fury. His mind slipped into its dark recesses, his thoughts turning to how fun it would have been to break such a firebrand if the situation was different. The barbarian quickly let his musings slip, his focus returning to matters at hand. He had assumed the meeting would go badly and had slipped into the chamber, blending into the deep shadows along the spectator's balcony above the main floor.

For a few heartbeats he had almost thought his services would actually be required, he'd half-expected the girl to use her magic against the duchess or even tear into her like a beast. But he'd quickly realized that the weakling was too scared to harness her rage. She was more akin to a wounded animal; ready to protect its life with a suicidal frenzy if attacked, but otherwise content to hiss and screech to intimidate its provokers into departing.

All observations aside though, Raze realized that Ekaterina's beloved 'peaceful resolutions' were now null and void. It was time for the barbarian to advance the agenda forward in the ways that he knew best. He stealthily slipped back out of the unguarded door he'd picked the lock of to gain entry to the chamber, a bloodthirsty grin cross his features as he let his mind focus on the task before him.


	7. Chapter 7

Midna couldn't stop shaking, furious over the duchess' brazen request. Her breath came in angry heaves that passed through gritted teeth and flared nostrils. She kept her hands in tight fists to keep them from trembling, her nails pressing so hard into her palms that she wouldn't be surprised if she'd find blood on them later. Her eyes were clinched tight, the action an attempt to clear her mind and to avoid having to lay a malicious gaze on Jezebelle. She remembered the look of frightened shock on the timid servant's face as she stormed out of the meeting chamber, flinging the door open in a fury, though her lady in waiting did cautiously approach the young queen in spite of her fear and stood ready to carry out any orders Midna might give. The Twili ruler had to be honest with herself though; rage was only a part of the reason that she was disturbed. The emotional reaction was just as much due to fear.

The young queen was afraid because she knew Ekaterina was right. There was no arguing with the logic that she was not ready to rule, the thought always weighed heavily on her mind, all the duchess had done was give it voice. Midna's reaction now was a perfect example. A proper queen would've divorced her feelings from the discussion and focused on the issue itself; instead she'd treated it as a personal attack and had snapped at the noblewoman, an outburst that only added more evidence to her claims. She still was more than a little baffled about her own reaction, ever since returning to the Twilight Realm she'd no longer truly wanted to be the leader of her people. She couldn't explain the feeling but something just felt wrong about abandoning the throne that her parents had held for so many years.

Slowly the young queen began to calm herself, consciously forcing her breathing to slow and willing her hands to become unclenched. There was sure to be hell to pay for someone after this incident. The question was simply whether it would be a coup against Midna or an execution for Ekaterina. As she began to look at the situation in as detached a way as she could muster, she could see the pros and cons to herself and the Twili people as a whole on both sides of the struggle but the thought process only served to further vex her. She needed an honest and unbiased option on the subject and there was only one person that could give her the advice she sought.

"I have to go see the High Pontifex." The young queen stated; a twinge of sadness in her voice as she realized that she was just illustrating another point that the duchess had made. She noticed Jezebelle give her a quick nod before falling into her usual position behind and to the side of Midna in preparation for her departure. The duo traveled at a hastened step through the wide, candelabra lined corridors and spiral staircases of the palace, working their way through the section of the keep that was allotted to chambers that oversaw the matters of state. They began to see the grey robed forms of hooded monks as they transitioned into the halls of the castle that were devoted to libraries and other pursuits of knowledge; the young queen asking the holy men if Ezekiel was in the area. One of the monks directed the duo to the small, modest chapel that was maintained for the benefit of the clergy that staffed the educational facilities.

"What can I do for you this day my Queen?" The High Pontifex asked in a cordial tone as Midna strode into the small chamber, the man deeply bowing his head and putting his hands together as if in prayer. The young queen's red eyes scanned the room for other occupants and when none were revealed; she let her posture visibly slump as she slid heavily onto one of the benches, bowing her weary head down into her hands. She remained silent for a long moment, the sight allowing Ezekiel to realize that the matter was grave indeed and he took a seat on the bench in front of her, his body oriented to the rear of the room so that he could offer a sympathetic gaze and comforting smile to her. "What is it that troubles you so my Queen?" He asked in a tone that sounded almost parental.

"Duchess Ekaterina asked me in private to step down." Midna confessed in a low tone, shifting her head so that her chin, not her entire face was held in her slender hands, though still casting her forlorn gaze towards the stone floor.

"I cannot say that I did not foresee something of this nature occurring." The elderly holy man lamented with a heavy sigh. "What did you say to her?"

"I flew into a rage." The young queen replied, her eyes shifting up to look at the High Pontifex with an apologetic gaze. "I don't know what happened, but something just made me furious at the thought of having the throne my father and mother had held falling into the hands of outsiders twice in the same year. I snapped at her, commanded her to be silent or that I would kill her."

"Certainly not the most intelligent course of action considering the circumstances." Ezekiel observed with a pang of distress evident in his tone.

"That I have realized all too well." Midna agreed as a weak laugh escaped her lips at the severe understatement of her admittance. "And the worst part is that I can't help but thinking that she was right on all counts and that it's simply sentiment and loyalty that keep me wanting to tenaciously keep a firm hold on my position."

"In all fairness my Queen, it is sentiment and loyalty that are among the virtues that separate the truly righteous souls from the rest." The elderly holy man said, the smile behind his blue and gray bread widening slightly.

"I can appreciate your philosophy great sage, but it is my next course of action here in the material world that I would seek your council on." The young queen said in a careful tone, her intentions not being to undercut his pearls of wisdom but to guide the conversation towards how best to resolve the matter at hand.

"But it is the philosophy of ethics at the very heart of the matter my Queen." Ezekiel countered, his voice like that of a teacher correcting a pupil. "For if one does not place importance on it then they are committing themselves or others to folly."

"Well then would ethics have me do?" Midna asked in an irritated tone.

"There are two main concerns when dealing with such questions," The High Pontifex began, ignoring the frustration that the young queen had expressed. "What is the benefit of the action and does the action allow the person enacting it to stay true to themselves. So you must weight your two options, to step down or to prepare to fight off a coup, against this philosophy. Look at both courses. Ask what is the benefit to the Twili and to you in each path. Ask what is the nature of the Twili and your own nature. Weight those factors then take all that you have learned in your answers and, to use a metaphor, place them on a scale. See which scale has the greatest benefit on the greatest level. That will be your answer."

"I don't---" Midna had begun but cut herself off as the door to the chapel opened in a narrow part, the creaking of hinges slightly startling her, and a diminutive monk that looked perhaps two summers her junior quickly slipped into the room.

"A thousand pardons your highness and your holiness," The young clergyman stated in a worried tone with a deeply bowed head and his hands held together in prayer. "I have urgent news."

"If it is urgent then do not delay with a preamble, speak your message." Ezekiel said quickly, standing as he spoke.

"There is a barbarian in black armor and two guardsmen passing through the libraries inquiring about yourself and the Queen your holiness." The monk stated in a rushed voice.

"Th…that ma…man is th…the Duch…Duchess' bod…body guard." Jezebelle stuttered out as she stepped forward slightly from the corner of the room she'd positioned herself in when she and the young Queen had arrived.

"This does not bode well." The elderly holy man said with a sour look on his face. "Come, we must take precaution." He added as he quickly took hold of Midna's wrist, pulling the somewhat dazed young Queen to her feet and guiding her over behind the room's altar. "Jezebelle, come along as well." He ordered as he flipped up the decorative purple cloth from the rear of wooden structure and placed his fingers on the edges of a raised rectangular carving depicting a scene of the Twili being banished from the light realm. A subtle push and pull of the sides caused the section of dull brown wood to swing outwards, the carving proving to actually be a hatch that lead into the hollow altar.

"In you go my Queen." Ezekiel stated as he removed the young queen's crown and helped her bend down into the recess. Midna had to squat low to step through the opening, though it was more spacious than it looked as she was able to comfortably sit up straight once inside. She was handed the false Crown of Fused Shadows once she was settled and looked up as the High Pontifex aided the lady in waiting in entering the hidden space. "Lock yourselves in once I close the door." The elderly holy man explained as he pointed to a latch on the inside of the covert door. "Don't come out until I say it's safe."

The young queen heard the door shut and Jezebelle secure the latch but her attention was drawn to a narrow crack that appeared to be an intentional design in the construction of the secret hideaway. If she leaned closely she could get a narrow view of the rest of the chapel, her field of view centered on the door. She saw Ezekiel come back around the front of the altar and walk over to where the monk that had alerted them still stood, the young man appearing to be a state of shock over what he'd just witnessed. The High Pontifex placed his hand on the young monk's shoulder and Midna strained to her what he was saying.

"No matter what happens, you must stay strong, have faith, and protect your Queen." The elderly holy man said in an encouraging but deathly serious tone. The younger clergyman offered a solemn nod in return, the monk's eyes losing their edge of fear and taking on a determined light. Ezekiel removed his hand from the young man's shoulder and took a step back, the distance between them now presenting a colder and more detached air between the two. Then the High Pontifex began speaking about the proper way to catalog the various libraries, the elderly holy man acting as if nothing had transpired in the last few moments at all and that he was simply instructing a newly inducted monk into the ways of maintaining the archives.

Ezekiel kept this façade up for several moments until the door was violently swung open, the thick and dark brown wood of the door slamming into the black marble of the rear wall. An imposing looking man stood in the doorway, his large frame filling most of the space, and his black steel armor seeming to suck the very light out of the room. His gaudy facial tattoo, a menacing looking skull, marked him as a member of one of the barbarian tribes that lived beyond the borders of the Twilight Kingdom. He stepped into the room slowly, his burning red eyes looking towards the High Pontifex with a gaze that brought memories of a carnivorous beast that had cornered its meal.

"Well, well, well." The man stated in a deep voice that sounded like armored boots crunching into loose gravel, an evil looking smile creeping over his weathered features. "The High Pontifex of the Fane of the Pantheon, supreme religious authority of the Twilight Kingdom. You're a difficult man to find for one that wasn't even hiding. Quite the credit to the loyalty of your underlings."

"Yes, I am the High Pontifex." The elderly holy man said in a friendly tone, bowing his head briefly in respect. "Is there something I can help you with my child?"

"Why yes there is," The barbarian said in a tone that had malevolent undercurrents. "You can start by dropping the act."

"What act is it that you think I am putting on?" Ezekiel asked with a raise of his bushy eyebrow.

"See?" Raze questioned rhetorically in a voice that dripped with venom. "That's what I'm referring too. Quit acting stupid and tell me where Midna is. I know she runs to you in times of distress like a kicked dog cowers behind its master."

"I think you are referring to 'Queen' Midna." The High Pontifex corrected; a hint of scorn in his tone as he emphasized the royal title.

"No, I'm referring to a spoiled bitch that doesn't know when it's time to stop playing pretend and let the big boys and girls handle things." The barbarian snapped back with cold eyes.

"Hold your tongue savage." The elderly holy man hissed out, his eyes regarding the Duchess' bodyguard with a burning fire. "You barge into this hallowed ground, you accuse me of lying, you insult the rightful Queen of the Twilight Kingdom, and you speak of treasons. I know your tribes lack faith in the Pantheon so you may not fully understand the ramifications of the path you are treading upon but try to wrap your insolent mind around the consequences of speaking to one of your elder shamans in such a manner. I do not care if you are in the closely associated employ of one of the nobles of the Twili Kingdom, if you do not leave at once I will see to it that you are thrown into the dungeons for your seditious insinuations."

The young queen was shocked at Ezekiel's outburst, the threat being completely out of character for the High Pontifex, she even noticed that the barbarian's face featured a slight smirk for a brief moment.

"My, my." Raze said in a tone of mock bewilderment. "It appears that even an old hound can gather enough courage to bark and growl. But I'll just ask once more then you'll never see me again. Where is Midna?"

"I do not know." The elderly holy man replied in a determined voice.

"A pity." The barbarian said with a disinterested shrug. Before anyone could react, Raze had drawn the scimitar that hung from his hip and oriented it towards Ezekiel's chest. With a forward thrust, he slammed the blade into the High Pontifex's torso; the tip of the curved sword slamming through the elderly holy man's trunk and ejecting a gout of blood out of the fresh cavity in his back that splattered grotesquely against the black marble wall behind him. Midna's mouth opened to scream but before her body could force any air from her lungs, Jezebelle's hand clamped down on the young Queen's mouth and nose.

The shocked gaze in Ezekiel's eyes dropped down to where the sword had entered his body before slowly panning back up to Raze's face. A wicked grin was plastered across the barbarian's face as he placed an iron grip on the High Pontifex's shoulder and violently jerked the elderly holy man closer, the blood coated blade burying itself to hilt. "Don't worry old man, you'll see your little royal brat again soon enough." The barbarian said in a sickeningly jaunty tone.

A fierce but rapidly fading light shone in the High Pontifex's eyes as he forcefully took hold of Raze's jaw, the adrenaline charged strength of the frail, dying elderly Twili catching the barbarian off guard. "I'll see to it that Pantheon damns you." Ezekiel spoke in an usually threatening tone that he managed to force out despite the frothy red fluid that was streaming out of the corners of his mouth. After the High Pontifex's solemn promise hung in the air for a long moment, his eyes slowly rolled into the back of his head and his slender fingers slipped from Raze's jaw.

Hot tears streaked down Midna's face, though no sobs passed her lips even though her lady in waiting had since removed her silencing hand from the young queen's mouth. She felt Jezebelle's hands on her shoulders, the timid servant apparently trying to turn her away from the sight. Midna lightly pushed her lady in waiting away, being as gentle as her anger would allow her to. She needed to see this. She needed to remember every detail. The dark stain rapidly growing in size and expanding down the front of Ezekiel's gray robes, the way his body hung limply from the barbarian's blood drenched sword, and she especially had to remember the grin on the man's face. She'd be sure to return it to him when she killed him.

Raze gave the sword a half twist before pushing the body of the High Pontifex off of his scimitar, the expression on the barbarian's face more resembling a man that had just stepped in animal dung as opposed to one that just murdered the senior religious official of the Twilight Kingdom. He quickly spun around with the sword held outwards, the move intentionally causing droplets of blood to splatter on the face of the young monk, the tip of the blade stopping a few inches from the clergyman's face. "And what about you?" Raze asked in an amused tone. "I don't suppose you're a bit more willing to tell me where the bitch is?"

The young monk still appeared horrified from witnessing the death of the High Pontifex and it took the clergyman a moment to realize that the barbarian's scimitar was now oriented towards him. Though instead of the young monk's fear building due to the action, his gaze hardened with a determined light. Again the clergyman's actions belied appearances, the young monk deeply bowing his head and beginning to recite one of the prayers for the deceased in a defiant tone.

"Pathetic simpleton." The barbarian spat venomously as he drew back his sword in preparation of a strike and stepped forward. The young monk's prayers were abruptly silenced as Raze's scimitar flew through the air in a wide arc, the blow separating the clergyman's head from his shoulders. The stump of the young monk's neck began release thick streams of bright red blood that shot from the body in far reaching spurts as the slain clergyman fell to the ground in two unceremonious heaps. The barbarian took a final look around the small chapel that had been converted to a charnel house over the course of his actions and let out a snort of disgust before turning sharply on the heels of his black leather boots and slamming the heavy door shut as he strode out of the room in a fit of anger.

The duo hiding within the secret compartment of the altar sat in silence for several long moments, an oppressive silence hanging over the area. The sound of the latch being unlocked gave the young queen a start as light streamed into the hidden space and Jezebelle's lithe frame crawled through the opening. Once the lady in waiting had cleared the hidden doorway she turned and offered a hand to Midna, helping her mistress out of the hollow altar and to her feet.

"How much magic can you do without the crown?" Jezebelle asked, her hands quickly withdrawing a knotted cord from a fold of her dress at her waist and untying it.

"Not much I---" The young queen started as she automatically began to answer the question before she suddenly cut herself, the realization hitting her that her usually timid lady in waiting hadn't stuttered once in her question and her tone had a confident and urgent edge to it. Not to mention the fact that she apparently knew that the Crown of Fused Shadows that was still lying inside their hideaway was a forgery. Midna threw her hands up defensively and spun quickly to square off against the woman she had thought was her lady in waiting. "Who are you?!" She demanded; her reaction a combination of equal parts anger and fear.

"Calm down my Queen." The woman reassured her as her slender fingers freed the knot from the cord and pulled it away from her, the narrow rope apparently holding together a hidden seam in her dull brown dress as the skirt portion of the garment fell to the floor around her feet in a heap. The young queen now saw that the woman's legs were clothed in a pair of thick but flexible looking black leather pants that were tucked into tightly laced black leather boots. However most of Midna's attention was drawn to the kukris that currently rested in black leather sheathes that were tied snuggly to the woman's tights. "We are in extreme danger and we need to get out of here. I need you to please stay focused and remain calm. I swear by the Pantheon that despite my deception, my only concern is your safety right now."

The young queen considered the woman's words for a brief moment; she rationalized that if the armed Twili did indeed wish her ill, she would have made her move when the two were trapped in the hidden space of the altar. "Where is Jezebelle? Is she safe?" Midna questioned in a concerned tone, her thoughts moving from her own safety to that of her timid servant.

"You don't understand my Queen," The woman began, her tone taking on a soothing edge as she spoke. "I 'am' Jezebelle. I always have been. I'm the same person that your parents, may the Pantheon rest their souls, assigned to you when you reached your sixteenth summer and passed into womanhood. I was always to function as a protector. The personality of the timid, stuttering lady in waiting was always just a ploy to keep my presence hidden to those that would do you harm. A weakling servant is easily overlooked and discounted by potential assassins where as a fully outfitted guardian overtly over your shoulder would be the first priority to eliminate if one sought to do you harm."

"You're lying." The young queen accused in a weak voice, the imposter's unmasking following on the heels of seeing Ezekiel murdered was leaving her feeling drained. "You said the crown was a fake. Jezebelle knew it was real."

"Because I brought it to you when you couldn't go back in your chambers a few nights ago?" The woman asked, a warm smile crossing her features as she continued. "You aren't the only soul who the High Pontifex's lessons live on in. I was listening to him all those times he gave you council too. Symbols are important right? I saw that you could use a symbol to inspire you."

Midna took a long look at the woman standing before her, noting the confidence that she appeared to give off. She was standing tall, her shoulders back and her chin held high. The palms of her hands where resting on the black steel butt caps of her kukris; her relaxed arms still managing to give off an air like that of a snake, ready to strike at a moment's notice. Her golden eyes were regarding Midna with a reassuring light but there was something vaguely predatory in her gaze, though the young queen did not feel as though it was directed at her. In spite of it all though, Midna just had a feeling that this was in fact the woman that had been her 'lady in waiting' for the past two years. "Okay." Midna admitted with a heavy exhale, the young queen finally dropping her hands to her sides and standing up straight. "I believe you."

"Thank you my Queen." Jezebelle said with a deep bow of her head, her smile growing wider. "Now then, how much magic can you do without the crown?"

"Not much." Midna admitted in a defeated tone. "Mostly just parlor tricks that focus on illusions. But why is that so important?"

"Because we need to leave the palace immediately and discreetly but we should be prepared for to fight our way out." The lithe guardian explained, her face returning to a deathly serious mask.

"What?! It's just one man!" The young queen exclaimed, her anger rising at the thought of running away from the barbarian that had killed Ezekiel. "We rally the royal guard, corner him, and execute him. We then strip Duchess Ekaterina of her land and titles and take steps to counter the fears of the Twili citizens to prevent further uprising."

"I'm afraid it's not that simple my Queen." Jezebelle explained with a slow shake of her head. "That warrior is in the employ of the same Duchess that just asked you to step down. He just murdered the High Pontifex and a monk. I think it's rather obvious that Ekaterina took your refusal quite personally and instead of a bloodless coup, she's now willing to overthrow you regardless of the cost in lives."

"It's still just one man!" Midna started to shout out before lowering her voice after the first syllable angrily passed her lips.

"No my Queen, I'm afraid it's not." Jezebelle retorted in a deflated tone. "After Zant's rebellion decimated the ranks of the Royal Guard, their numbers had to be replenished. Replenishments that you drew from the men that were offered to you by Ekaterina." The lithe guardian let the impact of the statement sink in, a look of shock crossing the young queen's features as her hand slowly raised to her mouth.

"By the Pantheon, she's had this all planned out." Midna said in a bewildered tone to no one but herself, her mind racing as she connected the bits of information. "She had a large chunk of her force in place, already camped outside the palace when I returned. Was my return merely a snag in a bid to take power? Did she delay simply out of respect or the hope that I would crack under the strain and renounce the throne?"

"Regardless, none of that matters now my Queen." Jezebelle interrupted in a sympathetic voice. "What matters now is getting you to safety so that she will not have a victory here today. In surrendering this pile of rocks to her now, we save you and allow you to live to bring the fight back to Ekaterina when we are better prepared to face her."

The young queen hated to admit the truth of the matter to herself but her protector was correct. If she sought vengeance now, it would likely lead to her death and would still end up with Ekaterina or some other lackey of hers on the throne. If Midna escaped though, she could seek out an army or a few assassins to deal with the traitor. Even the part of her that truly no longer wanted to be the one on the throne agreed, for even though she wondered whether or not she should rule, there was no question at all that she did not want a murderer to rule. She could return to her internal debate on the issue after Ekaterina was deposed. "Let's go." The young queen finally admitted with a solemn nod.

The lithe guardian's sharp golden eyes darted around the room for a moment, her gaze settling on a series of wooden pegs set into the wall that currently had a number of the dull gray monk's robes suspended from it. She crossed to the vestments of faith that hung on the black marble wall and retrieved two of the robes, offering one out to Midna. "Put this on my Queen." Jezebelle urged. "And don't bother retrieving the false crown from the altar. No sense in taking along a replica that will only serve to draw attention."

The young queen moved to her protector and took the robe that she had held out for her. As the duo busied themselves with donning the large garments, Jezebelle began to give out instructions at a rapid pace. "Keep your hood up and pulled low over your face. Keep your hands tucked into the opposite sleeves and around your chest. Do not speak and if we must gesture for any reason, leave that to me. Also, should we pass by a coat of arms bearing a rapier while free from prying eyes, retrieve it and keep it hidden under your robes. That is still the weapon you are most familiar with yes?"

"I would say so yes." Midna admitted, still sounding overwhelmed with the situation. "Though it is just a skill acquired through fencing, not warfare."

"It is merely a precaution my Queen." The lithe guardian explained in a reassuring tone. "I will attempt to handle the situation should the need to arise to engage in combat. Though if you do have to draw steel, do not aim for your adversary's heart directly, you will likely just sunder your thin blade on thick armor. Instead look for gaps in the armor near the neck, armpits, and groin. Strike hard, force the sword to run through, and use the blade to cut free of the flesh, moving it away from the armor."

"Okay." The young queen stated with a quick, nervous nod. The thought of having to enter battle without the magic that had been granted to her while wearing even a fragment of the Crown of Fused Shadows was worrying her heavily. Though she had accompanied Link for several months as the pair fought for the freedom of their realms, the swordplay was entire the light dweller's domain. The only true contribution she'd had to the effort was all magical in nature. She'd never once raised a weapon on another and run them through. Midna found herself wishing that Link was at her side now. While Jezebelle certainly seemed capable enough, the young queen had always just felt safer with the light dweller around in the later days of their quest. She'd seen firsthand how capable he was in warfare and she knew he'd die to protect her from even the slightest harm. Though the reality of the matter was that there was no way, regardless of how much she'd wished for it, that the dashing young hero would come to a dramatic rescue of the damsel in distress. The 'damsel in distress' had already seen to that.

"Also," The lithe guardian said, her words serving to pull Midna back into reality as she placed her hands on the young queen's shoulders. "I know this will be difficult for you but as we leave, ensure that you do not disturb the fallen. Do not cover them, place them in more dignified positions, or close their eyes. Also ensure that you do not step in or allow your robes to drag through the blood. If something is put out of place then it can be easily used to expedite the search for us."

"I…I won't." Midna replied in voice that threatened to fail on her. She had nearly forgotten about the slaying of Ezekiel and the young monk with everything that Jezebelle had lain bare upon the two emerging from the altar. Her red eyes turned from frightened to melancholy as her gaze drifted back to the where the two bodies of the clergymen rested, their stilled forms perversely highlighted by the slowly expanding pools of dark red blood that were centered around the murdered Twili. Before she could dive too far into the dark thoughts that were slowly worming their way into her mind, she was jerked back to reality as she felt a strong pressure on her jaw and her field of view whipped back to the stern face of her protector.

"Stay with me my Queen." Jezebelle chided as she continued to hold the young queen's jaw in an effort to force the ruler to look at her. "I know that we're in dire straits here, I know our task might seem impossible, I know that a part of you wants to just sit here and weep until death takes you. Do whatever it is you need to do shut that part of your mind up. There's a part of you that also wants to kill Ekaterina and her barbarian and anyone else that was responsible for this right? Focus on that voice instead. Let that hate drive you. Hate can keep you alive even when all hope has long since fled. Now I can lead us out of here and get us somewhere safe, but I can't do it alone. If you want to live long enough to be able to act on that hate, you have got to stay alert and be ready to lash out like a wild beast if push comes to shove. Do you understand?"

"I do." Midna answered, a determined light beginning to shine in her gaze. She did exactly as her protector had instructed, she found that voice of hate and focused on it. It was the same emotion that had driven her to action during Zant's coup and it would drive her through this overthrow as well. The more she focused on it, the more comfortable she began to feel, the sensation like an old friend returning after a forlorn absence. The young queen was ready.

"Then let us make haste my Queen." The lithe guardian said as she broke her hold on Midna and carefully worked her way towards the chapel's exit; past the corpses and gore on floor, lifting the robe up around her feet as she stepped around the viscera. The young queen followed suit, surprising herself as her gaze did not hang on the ghastly scene any longer than was necessary. Jezebelle waited at the door until Midna stood ready, the lithe guardian giving a final reassuring nod to the young queen before she threw her hood over her head and pulled the thick wooden door open before striding lazily into the hallway beyond.


	8. Chapter 8

Link was suddenly aware of himself, though he did not know where he was. The complete, all encompassing darkness that stretched in every direction only served to reveal that he was not located in his bed any more. It was the last place he could recall being at, bedding down for the night in his home with Ilia at his side. He supposed he could be dreaming but everything just felt so vivid. He was aware that he was standing, as he only felt pressure on the bare soles of his feet. He was about to begin to feel around for walls or at least touch the floor to determine what type of place he might be located in, but his vision was suddenly assaulted as an explosion of light, colors, and motion appeared in front of him.

He saw a landscape stretched before him, the countryside flying past below him as if he were looking through the eyes of bird cutting across the sky. Strangely though, he felt as if he were still standing; the view seeming less like he was flying himself but more akin to standing before some sort of living tapestry. The scene passing by him resembled the fields and forests that were common to Hyrule itself but the colors of the grass and leaves seemed strangely muted, the green colors of vegetation appearing more like age faded paint than its usual vibrant hue. The oppressive gray clouds shot through with golden shafts of light that hung in the sky however were instantly recognized by him as the horizon of the Twilight Realm; though when he had passed through the Mirror of Twilight, the realm itself had appeared to be little more than a floating town suspended in the clouds. It was like what he was seeing was some sort of cross between the realms of light and shadow.

The path that the image was following appeared to be heading towards a large form that rose up from its surroundings. As the distant object rapidly closed to his viewpoint, he could see that it was a squat mountain that was topped by some sort of fortress. His field of view began to pan upwards as it shot across the villages and farms outlying the castle, the view tracking up along the steep face of the mountain. The muted browns and grays of the summit abruptly transitioned to the dark gray stone blocks of the fortress' stout looking walls; and as the battlements came into view, a sharp inhale signaled his surprise at the carnage before him.

There were two opposing forces locked in brutal and visceral combat. One army was encased in crude looking black metal armor that was characterized by broad, flat plates that sported sharpened edges and protruding spikes. The other group was clad in shining, noble looking silver armor that smoothly curved around the warriors' bodies. The two units of combatants were battling all across the courtyard of the castle, their struggle surrounded by fires raging unchecked across small wooden huts and once beautiful gardens. Another unmistakable sign of a hate filled feud were the unarmored bodies strewn about the fortress; the bright clothes and slender forms denoting women, children, and the elderly of the Twili race that had been mercilessly executed.

Link felt a tremendous pressure clamp down on his hand and tore his eyes away from the sight of the battle to find the source of the discomfort. He was surprised when he turned his head and saw the lithe form of Princess Zelda standing at his side, her fingers interlacing with the hero's to place his hand in a white knuckled grip. The princess' face was a mask of utter horror at the scene displayed before her, her mouth slack and tears beginning to well up in her blue eyes. Link couldn't help but notice that she was far from her usual formal self as well. She was clothed only in a simple white cotton long night gown that looked surprisingly simplistic for royalty to be wearing and her light brown hair hung free behind her shoulders. The hero realized that if she was dressed in her bed clothes then he himself was likely standing nude beside her, but the thought was quickly dismissed as the sounds of clashing steel and screams drew his attention back to the vision of the battle before him.

The black armored force appeared to be quickly overcoming the silver armored army, the latter quickly being run through or beheaded by the opposing group. The former that were no longer engaged in warfare were picking their way through the dead, wounded, and captured silver armored warriors and civilians. Corpses and wounded or captured men and boys were decapitated on sight; the marauding fighters taking the severed heads and ramming them onto pikes that were being erected around the grounds. Women and girls though quickly had their clothing cut from them with no regard for their safety and were brutally raped. As the last of silver armored defenders fell, the air became a cacophony of laughter and screams.

The field of view shifted once more, the vision crossing over the main gate to the courtyard and bringing a long corridor that was flanked by large, defensive walls into view. The path was likewise littered with bodies, fires, and other signs of a recently decided battle. For a moment all seemed stilled but as the focus of the sight lowered towards the ground, a slender figure was seen crawling along the cobblestones. The form was leaving a trail of dark crimson blood in its wake, the life giving fluid slowing oozing out of numerous wounds that were centered on arrow shafts that stuck obscenely out of the Twili, giving the appearance of a grotesque porcupine. The woman was clothed in wisps of black silk that revealed much of her ashen skin. The hero's heart sunk when he realized where he knew the garments from.

'Midna' he silently mouthed as the view finally settled at ground level in front of the Twilight Princess, her face a mask of agony as tears streamed freely from her fear filled red eyes. Her lips quivered as a small trickle of blood ran out of the corner of her mouth, weak sobs making their way past gritted teeth as she weakly tried to continue to pull herself forward. A shadow fell over the Twilight Princess as large black armored warrior walked up casually behind her prone form. The warrior immediately drew extra attention as his head was not that of a man but was a cleanly picked skull, an unholy red light glowing in the empty eye sockets. The ghoul laughed in a tone that made the hero's skin crawl as he reached an enormous gauntleted hand down to the helpless princess and wrapped strong fingers around her narrow ankle. A blood curdling scream escaped Midna's lips as she was violently jerked backwards, her fingernails ripping free from her slender fingers as she attempted to dig her digits into the gaps in the stones for traction. Link tried to will his body to give chase as the monster drug the Twilight Princess back towards the courtyard, the hero forcing air from his lungs to yell out to his compatriot.

* * *

"MIDNA!" Link shouted in desperation as he shot up into a sitting position. A feminine shriek of terror followed hot on the heels of his outburst, the hero's alert blue eyes frantically shooting over to the source of the noise. His gaze fell not upon the Twilight Princess but the frightened, doe eyed gaze of Ilia; the young woman's trembling form illuminated by the moonlight streaming in through the windows as her arms tried to protectively shield herself from harm. Her slender form was haphazardly wrapped in the white cotton sheet that had been covering her sleeping form mere seconds ago.

Link's gaze quickly left the sight of his lover, his eyes darting around the room as he searched the shadowy interior of his home; his still only half awake mind still trying to locate what had become of Midna. After a few long moments had passed, his breathing began to slow and he suspended his visual search for the Twilight Princess. Though despite relenting in his current intent to find her, he could not shake the feeling that something was very wrong and that what he'd seen was more than just a dream. The only question was whether it was a warning of something to prevent or a vision of a horrible tragedy that had just occurred.

"M…my love?" Ilia questioned in an unsteady voice, her hand reached half way out to Link's arm. "Are you well?"

"Forgive me." The hero replied apologetically with a heavy sigh, slowly reaching out his hand to cup his lover's cheek so as to not startle her further. She seemed to relax as his rough hand contacted the soft skin of her face, bringing both of her hands up to hold the hero's gesture in place.

"Nightmares of your journeys?" She asked with a sympathetic edge to her voice as she crossed her legs beneath her and lowered her hands into her lap, taking Link's still captive hand with them.

"No." The hero replied in a heavy hearted voice. "A vision I think. I fear a friend may be in grave danger.""Must you go to them?" His lover asked in a tone that had a sad edge to it, the young woman biting her lower lip in anticipation of an answer she did not want to hear.

"I can't." Link replied in a defeated tone. "They are…out of reach." He cryptically explained, not wanting to give the full history of his quest to save the realms. He had always omitted the parts of the tales that included Midna and the times he was trapped in the form of a wolf, fearing others would believe his mind had cracked under the strain of the quest. The only person that knew the full truth of the matter was Princess Zelda. The thought of the monarch of Hyrule pulled his thoughts back to the earlier potions of the vision. The princess was right beside him the entire time, looking equally as if she had been sleeping prior to being drawn into the sight. It wasn't much but maybe she had a part of the puzzle that he didn't. And at least it would better than laying down and sleeplessly fretting until dawn arrived.

"I have to go." The hero hurriedly said as he swung his legs off of the bed, reaching down to retrieve his reinforced brown leather pants from the wooden floor.

"I thought you said you couldn't go." Ilia asked in a low voice, her tone turning towards the somber.

"I can't go to the friend that needs help." He responded quickly, a small cloud of dust being raised as he pulled his trousers up; the clothing still dirty from the previous day's ranch hand work. "But there is someone I can go to that might be able to provide answers to questions that have been raised." Link didn't hear an answer from his lover so he quickly went about pulling on his equally dusty boots and lacing them up with a practiced speed and precision.

"How long will you be gone?" Ilia asked in an uneven tone, her eyes downcast as she idly tugged at the sheets that were coiled around her.

"I should be back mid-day tomorrow at the latest; I only have to go to the city." The hero replied swiftly; pulling on a tan, sweat stained long sleeve cotton shirt. "I shall have to return regardless of what I learn to prepare." He elaborated as he rounded the bed to make his way towards the ladder that led down to the main floor of his house. Link was stopped short though, Ilia's gentle grasp closing around his forearm as she reached out from the bed. The young woman gave his arm a weak tug, urging him to come closer to her and hooking her other hand behind his neck as he complied with her silent wish. She drew the hero's face in closer to hers until their lips met in a one sided kiss; Ilia pouring her heart and soul into the gesture while Link merely bothered to pucker his lips and give the slightest pressure in return.

"Come back to me safe my brave hero." The young woman said in a forlorn voice, her hand leaving his forearm to softly trace the large, scabbed over wound that ran the length of his face.

"I will." Link stated in a neutral tone as he noticed the moonlight reflecting off of the tears that were starting to well up in Ilia's eyes. He gently freed himself from her grasp and turned to cross the short distance to the ladder before descending to the floor below. He moved quickly to the door of his home, not even breaking stride as he retrieved the Ordon Sword from where it hung in its sheath beside the entrance. He opened the heavy wooden door and stepped out into the warm, humid summer night; the full moon lighting up the surroundings outside of the hero's home with a brightness that made it easy to navigate his way around without the aid of firelight.

He took a quick glance at his surroundings as he slipped the straps of the weapon's scabbard over his head, the sword comfortably coming to rest across his back. With his visual search not finding any sign of Epona, he clicked his tongue a few times in rapid succession in an attempt to coax the mare to come forward. His sounding was quickly accompanied by a whinny as the horse separated itself from a dense bank of shadows alongside Link's house. Epona slowly walked up to the hero, the mare nuzzling her snout into his shoulder to greet her master.

"Apologies for the early rise girl." Link said in a low, soothing tone as he gently petted the side of the horse's head. "But Midna is in danger and I think Princess Zelda might know a way to help her." The mare offered a low snort in return and lifted her head off of the hero's shoulder, Epona apparently making herself ready to be fitted with all the tack required to carry a rider. Link quickly went about retrieving the equipment from its nearby resting place on a rail that had been erected in front of his home and began to carefully tack up the mare with a well practiced precision. As his hands went through the motions of preparing Epona, his ears detected a faint noise that just barely rose over the ambient sounds of crickets and night birds. He could hear Ilia's low sobbing drifting out of the open balcony.

The hero gritted his teeth as he identified the sound, his thoughts turning towards the bleak situation he was locked into. He hated to know that his lover was filled with grief but he knew he couldn't correct the predicament they were in without one of them not being true to themselves. He knew that it played havoc on Ilia's emotions when he left for any length of time without her, but Link was slowly realizing that he couldn't confine himself to Ordon any longer. He just couldn't be a simple rancher hand anymore. Not after everything he'd been through. He'd grown accustomed to the thrill of dodging death and traveling to hidden corners of the realm, the joy it brought him could not be compared to even the strongest tankard of mead, the headiest pipe of hashish, or the most passionate love making. Even after returning the Master Sword, the feeling of discontent only rose; the only time he'd felt truly alive since his return to his home village was when he was battling the giant spiders and wooden golems on his quest to return the legendary blade. Even now, though he was deeply concerned about the safety of the Twilight Princess and her people, he was actually excited at once more having a dire situation lain before him and the power to take matters into his hands and try to work for the betterment of the realms.

It was not that he didn't still love Ilia, she always had and likely always would hold a very intimate spot in his heart but it was becoming apparent that theirs was a doomed love. While Link longed for a life filled with travel and excitement, his lover was content to live out their days in Ordon, starting a proper family and one day taking control of her father's ranch. She had wept for hours when he returned from laying the Master Sword to rest and sported a fresh wound along the side of his face. She was terrified that she was 'going to lose him again' and 'couldn't stand living in fear that the next time might be the time he wouldn't come back'. Ordon was too small and safe for Link while the world was too big and dangerous for Ilia. They were night and day, only able to coexist for brief periods before one had to break away to focus on its purpose. And for all his bravery in the face of death, he wasn't able to muster the courage to be the one to say that they needed to take their own paths. As paradoxical as it seemed, he loved her too much.

A heavy exhale passed through his nostrils as he mulled over the distressing predicament, his hands securing the last buckle on the tack that he'd outfitted Epona with. He stepped a foot up into the stirrup and mounted the mare, quickly settling into the well worn saddle and gently kicking his heels against the horse's sides to indicate her to head out. Link turned Epona towards the path that led out of the village and settled the mare into a quick trot, the hero eager to move out of earshot of Ilia's cries. He kept the horse at the brisk pace as much as the terrain would allow as he gradually worked his way along the narrow trails that cut through the forest, finally passing by the ramshackle hut that served as a business and home for a torpid oiler and marked the edge of the vast expanses of the Hyrule Fields.

The hero noticed Epona becoming very restless as they entered the open farmlands that made up the bulk of central Hyrule, the mare impatiently tugging against the reins. A smile pulled at the corners of Link's mouth as he realized that his horse was anxious to take advantage of the wide open spaces. He let an excited war cry slip as he kicked at the mare's flanks, Epona loosing a joyous sounding neigh as she bolted off across the relatively flat ground at a full gallop. The hero's smile widened into a full on grin as he felt the wind rushing past him and his ears were filled with the thunderous beat of the horse's hooves slamming into the ground. Once more, he felt as if all was right in the world. And this time, he did not feel the slightest shame in it. This was just who the simple ranch hand had now become, a capable and enthusiastic warrior riding hard across the realm in pursuit of a way to make things right.

The mare quickly tired of the brutal pace after a few minutes, though she had extended the gallop for as long as it seemed she could, and instead settled into a quick trot; Epona seeming more content now that she'd torn through the moonlit countryside for a distance. The shining white disc of light in the starry sky above slowly marched towards the horizon as the hero and his mare made good time across the farmlands, working their way towards the distant spires of Hyrule Castle. Despite the lack of armor and additional arms other than his sword, Link found himself almost wishing that some bloodthirsty horror or vicious beast would lunge out of the fields along the road; hoping feel the excitement in felling a rampaging opponent. The opportunity never rose though, the citadel and its accompanying township filling the hero's field of view as he neared the end of his journey and light from the soon to rise sun was appearing as a faint glow on the far edge of the horizon.

Link guided Epona along the wide and mostly still empty cobblestone streets of the capitol, the mare's hooves clicking loudly on the surface of the road and echoing off of the surrounding buildings and alleyways as they worked their way towards the Royal Stables. The early risers and night owls that were sparsely scattered along the path didn't pay much mind to the hero, the lack of the iconic green tunic and cap and the addition still healing facial wound causing many to pay no mind to who they assumed was just another subject of the Kingdom. Link was grateful for the anonymity that he had unintentionally provided for himself, for while he had wished for a battle along the road to the castle to feed his want of danger, he was now consumed with a desire to find out how much Princess Zelda knew about the dream he'd had.

"Halt!" A high-pitched voice called out as the hero and his mare passed through the archway into the courtyard of the Royal Stables. "This area is off limits! Turn around and be gone!"

"I have urgent business with the Princess." Link started in an unimpressed tone as he smoothly dismounted Epona and landed on the ground with a grace that carried a subtle, menacing undercurrent to it. "I am not expected but it is a grave matter concerning the allies of the Kingdom." He had no intention of carrying through with the implied threat of force, but he'd realized when dealing with the raw recruits that were conscripted in the wake of Zant's invasion, a little intimidation could go a long way towards swiftly resolving a situation.

"I can't let you pass without word from above." The guard stated shakily, the lanky figure emerging from the shadows near the stables with the sharpened point of spear oriented in the hero's direction. "Now leave before I have to..." The young soldier trailed off as he approached; his helmeted head tilting slightly as he gave Link a more in depth examination. "Oh! Sir Link! I apologize good sir; I did not recognize you without your usual regalia!"

"It's quite all right." The hero responded while offering a smile as the thought of the other factor that could greatly aid one's case when dealing with the inexperienced guards crossed his mind, relying on their urge to engage in hero worship. "But I do have truly pressing business with the Princess. Could you please ensure that the stable boy sees to my mount?"

"Of course good sir! I shall ensure that we give your steed the very best of care!" The lanky guard replied in a confident tone as he snapped his frame into a rigid position and brought his spear to rest vertically in the crook of his shoulder.

"Many thanks." Link replied with a slight bow of his head as he walked past the young soldier and made his way towards the door that led to the circular stairway that would take him up to the castle proper. He quickly ascended the stairwell, taking the steps in pairs as he took a long stride over every other one. A sudden sense of urgency had washed over his mind, the hero thinking that it was the fortified walls of Hyrule Castle that turned his thoughts back towards the grizzly scene of the doomed fortress from his dream. He arrived at the main floor of the palace in what seemed like no time at all, stepping into the grand hall from a side door as his eyes scanned the room for signs of a servant or guard that could inform him of the Princess' whereabouts.

It did not take long for his gaze to settle on the portly figure of Silas, the Seneschal of the Royal Family. The right-hand man to Princess Zelda stood in the middle of the cavernous room, relaying instructions of some sort to a servant. In spite of fact that it was still just before dawn, Silas appeared as well dressed and groomed as ever; his shoulder length brown hair gathered up in a neatly tied ponytail and not a wrinkle to be seen on his blue tailcoat or white breeches. Link approached the Seneschal with a purposeful stride, his ears detecting the end of a statement that sounded like a list of tomes. The servant quickly bowed and retreated away after Silas finished his sentence, the departure of the young man causing the hero to take advantage of the opening and address the Princess' majordomo.

"I need to see Princess Zelda." The hero spoke in a tone that sounded much more urgent than he'd thought it would have. "It is very important."

"Ah, Sir Link!" Silas proclaimed in a jovial voice, a warm smile crossing his rosacea stricken features as he turned towards the approaching young adventurer. "Well met!" He added as he offered a strong looking hand that was currently encased in a white glove.

"Well met to you as well Silas." Link returned as he accepted the hand that the Seneschal had extended. He was caught off guard as the majordomo vigorously shook his hand; clasping the hero's hand in between both of Silas'.

"It is good to see you again but please do not allow me to not delay you." The Seneschal said in a more serious tone as he released his powerful grip on the hero's hand and gestured for Link to walk with him. "After all, the Princess is expecting you.""She's expecting me?" The hero asked in a disbelieving tone as he fell into step beside the majordomo.

"Indeed." Silas replied in a reassuring voice. "Though I confess I do not know how or why since this news is apparently a shock to you as well."

"When did she tell you?" Link inquired as the duo progressed through the colorful tapestry and stained glass window lined hallways of the castle.

"Only a few hours ago." The Seneschal explained, his words not missing a beat as he would nod silent greetings to the servants and soldiers that they passed. "Her highness awoke me in the middle of the night and had me…" He trailed off with a chuckle, shaking his head slightly before he continued. "But it is not my place to discuss such business without her highness' consent. Suffice it to say that she included a statement that you would be arriving at some point today and to escort you immediately to see her without delay."

"I see." The hero said in an unintentionally low voice, the realization hitting him that the dream was definitely more than just a simple nightmare. Something was afoot and Princess Zelda had seen the same carnage that he had, he could only hope that she had more answers instead of only the same questions he possessed. The duo continued their trek in silence, Link so lost in his own thoughts that he barely realized that Silas was leading him into and up a torch lined spiral stairwell that led up to where the private chambers of the Royal Family was located. The hero knew where the path headed due to it being pointed out to him on a previous visit to the palace though he'd never actually seen the chambers themselves.

The pair emerged from the stairway into a short hallway that was lined with masterfully painted portraits of dignified looking men and women clad in regal trappings. Link's gaze didn't linger on the paintings for overly long though, his attention instead drawn to the large amount of well-equipped guards that stood at the ready along the gray stone walls. The soldiers were clad in shining golden full plate armor, ornate etchings of the royal seal of Hyrule carved into their breast plates and shields; while their long swords were already freed from scabbards with the point of the blades resting lightly on the stone floor, ready to be brought into action in a heartbeat. The hero also noticed that they didn't stand rigidly as if statues like most other stationary guards in the castle but instead they made small movements, their armor groaning slightly as they would shuffle their feet or bent and straighten their joints. Their movements further highlighted by the torch light that danced off of the polished steel armor and the blue plumes running down the back of their helmets that swayed with their motions. A layman might look upon the scene and think the guardians restless, undisciplined, or distracted but to a fellow warrior their actions spoke volumes of their experience. They were intentionally keeping their muscles loose and ready for battle. Link realized that these men must be among the few surviving members of the original Royal Guard.

Other than most of the helmets snapping in the duo's direction for a brief moment as they stepped into hall, the soldiers paid no attention to either the hero or the Seneschal as the latter guided them to a doorway at one end of the passageway. The guards that flanked the stout looking oak door only gave a slight nod to Silas as he came to a stop and gave a series of firm knocks against the wooden surface. "Your highness?" The Seneschal called out in a polite but elevated voice as he leaned closer towards the door. "Sir Link as arrived, would you like me to send him in?"

"Yes, please send him in at once." A muffled voice called back, the thick door obscuring any undertones from being clearly heard.

"Yes your highness." Silas replied before opening the door and gesturing for Link to enter the room beyond. The hero nodded his thanks to the Seneschal before he walked cautiously into the shadowy chamber, his attentive blue eyes scanning his new surroundings. The room appeared to be a small library, its walls dominated by shelve after shelve of leather bound volumes that sported titles struck with gold inlays. A ring of squat, free standing book cases were spaced out from the walls as well; the stacks serving to further draw one's attention to the large desk that dominated the center of the room. The large oak desk was covered in ornate carvings of scenes from early Hyrulean history, though much of Link's attention was diverted to the clutter that was strewn across its flat top; the items highlighted by a pair of flickering hurricane lamps at the corners of the desk, the lanterns providing the sole source of light for the chamber. There were a number of books that laid open on the surface, the tomes bound in cracked and dusty looking leather that sharply contrasted the well kept appearance of the remainder of the library's volumes. The yellowed pages that stared out from the books featured text that the hero recognized as ancient Hylian but like most Hyruleans, he had never bothered to learn the language itself. Despite the cache of centuries old knowledge arrayed on the desk, Link's attention was instead drawn to the four open and apparently drained bottles of wine that occupied spaces close to the center of the desk. At the far edge of the surface sat a delicious looking quiche resting on a silver plate, the dish largely intact save for a small section along the edge of the pie just above a discarded silver fork.

Behind the haphazard array of objects was the lithe form of Princess Zelda, her features buried in a particularly thick volume as her finger followed along the text as she read. The young ruler was clad in a thin robe of purple fur that hung open in the front, exposing a white cotton night gown underneath; the same garment she'd been wearing as she appeared to him in the nightmare. Likewise, her long light brown hair hung free down her back; though a few strands had fallen loose and hung along the side of her face. The sight of her appearing in nearly the same uncharacteristic state as he'd seen in the dream washed away the last bit of doubt from the hero's mind. She had most definitely seen the same vision as he. The sound of the door being shut behind him gave Link a slight start and interrupted his train of thought from going any further.

"I knew you'd come." Zelda said in a bittersweet voice as she looked up to the hero, a slight smile crossing her weary looking features. The young ruler looked exhausted, heavy bags gathering under her bloodshot eyes, the usually soft blue irises looking distant and forlorn.

"So you had the dream too your highness?" Link asked, a cold chill running down his spine as he spoke.

"I think I would classify it more as the single worst nightmare I had ever experienced, but yes. I saw what you saw." The young ruler said with a small, defeated laugh.

"What do you make of it your highness?" The hero asked in a tone that came out more flat than he'd intended.

"I am…unsure." She answered with a bewildered pause before gesturing to a pair of armless cushioned chairs that were positioned opposite her own at the desk. "Please sit."

Link nodded and approached one of the seats, removing the sheathed Ordon Sword from his back as he approached. As he neared the desk his nostrils were invaded by the sweet scent of wine, though it did not completely overpower the faint but unmistakable smell of vomit. He ignored the aroma though, settling into the plush chair and placing the blade on the rug beneath him.

"Please forgive the mess." Zelda apologized with a slight blush and a weak smile as she noticed the hero's eyes lingering on the emptied wine bottles. "I found myself rather troubled after I woke and sought to calm my nerves, though it proved to be a futile pursuit."

"Quite understandable your highness." Link responded in a sympathetic tone as he gave a slow nod.

"I just wish that I was able to take the scene in stride as you appear to have done." She stated with another half-hearted smile. "You truly are the unshakable Hero of Hyrule."

"I suppose I just grew accustomed to death and war over the last few months your highness." He replied in a tone that carried undercurrents of regret with it. "But even with such background the vision was still quite disturbing. Seeking out you in hopes for an explanation though, that keeps me focused and keeps my mind from drifting back to the images of the slaughter your highness."

"A wise strategy indeed." The young ruler admitted with a slow nod of her own. "But you have politely entertained my digression for long enough." She added, closing the book she had been reading prior to the hero's arrival. Link's eyes were drawn to the shallow carvings on the worn leather cover of the book, the meaning of the Hylian characters of its title eluding him; though the image that it featured greatly intrigued him. The Triforce was pictured, though at each of the three corners of the three triangle formation were simple representations of three people; each one extending a hand to touch the holy object. The figures could have been the Goddesses but usually they were represented by their symbols, not anonymous forms.

"To answer your previous question," Zelda began, her voice serving to interrupt Link's study of the imagery on the cover of the tome and turn his attention back to the young ruler. "I don't believe that what we saw actually occurred or will occur, at least not in the scope that was presented to us. I do believe it was a cry for help or a warning but I doubt that Princess Midna has passed away or has been put on the verge of death."

"How do you know your highness?" The hero asked in a cautious voice.

"Ancient texts detailing the specifics of such visions." She answered; gesturing at the books sprawled across the surface of the desk. "Though knowing the nature of what we experienced does little to get to the root of the issue. Something is happening in the Twilight Kingdom but with the Mirror of Twilight shattered I fear there is little that we can do to aid our mutual ally there."

"Then we have to find another way to get there your highness." Link replied quickly, the determination in his tone making it clear that he would not be turned from the path he seemed intent on embarking upon.

"I do wish I could share in your enthusiastic optimism but if there is another way to cross between the worlds then I have been unable to find it in even the darkest depths of the Royal Libraries." Zelda stated in a disheartened tone, a slow shake of her head accompanying her words.

"The mere fact that the mirror existed to begin with means that there is hope your highness." He explained in a confident tone that radiated optimism. "When it was created, it was somehow smithied, conjured, or granted by the Goddesses; which means that somewhere there is knowledge on how to create it or petition the heavens for it. It is merely a matter of finding it. And I think we both owe it to Midna to go to whatever lengths necessary to discover that knowledge if she's in trouble your highness."

"Well it's obvious that you won't be dissuaded from this path, nor was it ever my design to do so." The young ruler returned with a warm smile that quickly faded from her tired looking features as she continued. "But unfortunately it will be a road you must walk without my company. The Kingdom is far too fragile still from all that had occurred and I cannot risk walking away from it now. However I and all the scholars of the palace will continue to pour through the libraries in search of anything that may prove useful. And of course if you require any aid in this quest, please do not hesitate to ask."

"That is more than I would have dreamed to have asked of you to begin with your highness." Link responded in a thankful tone as he deeply bowed his head.

"And that is why, regardless of how much you bear the title like an ill-fitting garment, you are indeed the Hero of Hyrule." Zelda returned with a smile and a deep bow of her own head. "But please do not let me delay your search further. You have much ground to cover." She added as she gestured towards the door that led back out into the hall.

"Thank you for your insights and your aid your highness." The hero replied as he retrieved his weapon from the ground before standing and bowing once more to the young ruler. He held the bow for a quick moment before he turned and began to head towards the exit, his mind rapidly going over possible locations to search and what he would need for his new quest.

"I wish you well Link, may the Goddesses smile on your journeys." Zelda said in a tone that radiated near infinite hope and confidence in the fact that no matter what, the Hero of Hyrule would find a way into the Twilight Realm.


	9. Chapter 9

They were going to be unmasked. And it was going to be Midna's pounding heart that brought ruin to their deception. The thunderous noise of the frantic beating of the over taxed organ filled her ears to the point that the only other sound she could hear was the equally loud sound of the air rushing through her nostrils with what had to have been near hurricane force at each exhale. It took all of her willpower to keep her stride at the slow, steady pace that Jezebelle was setting their trek through the castle at. It was as if her entire mind and body were attempting to rebel against her wishes; both screaming at her to either fight or run as the duo openly meandered past the various guardsmen that were posted throughout the palace. Her instincts pleaded with her to do anything but just shuffle along the hallways, to take action of some type to either rapidly escape or defeat the threat that was posed by the soldiers of the Royal Guard that had been provided by Ekaterina. Midna's higher thought processes knew that her covert protector had been correct in the assessment that this was their best chance at success for safely spiriting themselves away from the now hostile fortress; but her base, animalistic core was on edge over what it perceived to be a complete disregard for the mortal danger she was in.

Each time they passed a guard, the young queen felt every muscle in her body tighten; Midna fully expecting them to command the pair to halt and discovering their identities. At least if she engaged in a running battle as she made her way to the gates she could go down fighting, not be subdued and kept alive for torture or some other sadistic amusement of the traitorous duchess or her minions. But of course if she were to fight, she only had her bare hands at her disposal; and she held no illusions as to her lack of skills as a pugilist. So in the end, she would most likely be slain before even reaching the courtyard; the legacy of her family that she fought so hard to restore from Zant's rebellion lost to the forgotten pages of history. She would not allow herself to take steps to set her on the path to failure at a full sprint. She would evade the notice of the guards, she would escape to seek sanctuary elsewhere, she would find a way to over throw Ekaterina, and she would take back the throne that had once belonged to her parents. The thought comforted her somewhat, the young queen trying to focus her mind on the importance of surviving her current predicament; even if that meant continuing her maddening course of what felt like inaction.

Midna's conflicting thoughts were brought to an abrupt stop as Jezebelle freed a hand from within the large sleeves of the robes she was disguised in and held it up to indicate for the young queen to stop. Midna's eyes frantically scanned around the passage way they were in, her alert red eyes searching for what threat it was that gave her covert protector pause. She could detect no one else in the hallway at all, let alone someone that would be considered a danger. Before she could pose a question as to what Jezebelle had held up their progress for, the guardian wordlessly pointed to a nearby wall. The young queen glanced over and her attention was drawn to a coat of arms that hung on the black marble surface; a pair of rapiers peeking out from behind a buckler that was emblazoned with a gaudy crest of one of the lower noble families.

Midna took another series of quick glances around the abandoned passage to ensure that there were no onlookers and quickly moved to where the coat of arms was located. She pulled one of her hands out from the sleeves of the monk's robes she was concealed in and took hold of the hilt of the thin bladed sword, pulling the weapon free from the display with a firm tug. Her eyes quickly danced over the surfaces, edges, and curves of the weapon; the young queen trying to rapidly assess if the rapier was still in suitable condition for use, as the instrument of warfare had hung forgotten on the walls of the palace for Pantheon knew how long. The sword appeared to be in good condition but she wouldn't know for sure until she struck something with it. She closed her eyes for a brief moment as she mentally corrected herself; if she had to employ the rapier it would be someone, not something, which she would be striking. Midna was intent on trying to steel herself on the thought of having to take a life in physical combat; she didn't want to hesitate if the time came. She again corrected herself; it was not a matter of if, but of when she would have to run a fellow Twili through.

The young queen sensed Jezebelle's impatient gaze on her back, Midna realizing that her inspection of the rapier and her wandering thoughts had delayed the duo long enough. She drew the lower portion of the spacious gray robe up above her waist and carefully guided the weapon's blade through the gap between her decorative silver belt and her black silk dress; the sword coming to rest as the hilt caught against the broad metal squares of the belt and kept the weapon held in place. After briefly checking the impromptu storage place of the rapier both visually and physically, the young queen was satisfied that the weapon would stay secured to her side and avoid cutting into her leg so long as she didn't do anything overly athletic. As she let the bottom of the robes hang free once more though, she found herself reasoning that if she was doing something that required such exertion then the blade would be drawn and most likely engaged in grizzly usage. Wasting no more time, she quickly positioned herself at her guardian's side and the pair continued their clandestine trek through the castle.

Their flight from the palace continued at a nerve wracking pace, though Midna admittedly did feel slightly more at ease now that she was armed. While she was indeed a stranger to being locked in mortal combat, the rapier was a weapon she knew well from years of fencing that honed her skills with the blade to a masterful level. So long as she kept her wits about her and remembered Jezebelle's council on where and how to strike, along with not trying to forcibly parry any strong blows from larger blades, she felt as if she actually had something of a fighting chance now if hostilities did indeed break out. Though the feeling of comfort did not last as they approached a doorway that would lead out into the gardens of the courtyard and found the frame filled with the imposing figure of a member of the Royal Guard clad in black full plate armor and wielding a menacing looking great sword.

The soldier held up his off-hand to signal for the duo to stop before speaking in a voice that was not the aggressive command that the young queen expected but rather a tone that seemed more apologetic than anything. "I'm sorry brothers but I can't let you leave the palace at the moment." The guard stated, his words causing the pair of disguised Twili women to come to a halt. Jezebelle made an obvious show of tilting her head to the side, though subtly taking care to not angle it to where more light could penetrate into the inky shadows of the hood that obscured her face. "Oh," The soldier responded in a diplomatic voice, the tone striking Midna as familiar somehow. "Are you under a vow of silence brothers?" The covert protector gave a single, slow nod in response to the question. "Forgiven me then brothers," The guard replied with a slight bow of his helmeted head. "I will explain so that you needn't attempt to mime your questions. The Royal Guard has been ordered to bar entry and exit to the palace proper due to some sort of ongoing disorder. I have not been told any specifics nor have I been told when the normal flow of citizens might be permitted to resume. Please return to your business within the keep itself and we will attempt to pass the word along once the situation has been resolved."

The young queen's eyes widened slightly as her mind finally managed to cut through the adrenaline and fear that clouded most of her thoughts at the moment and placed the familiarity of the soldier's voice. The Royal Guardsman before them was Richter, the same guard that had shown her extra concern when she had burst from her chambers in a panic several nights ago. She recalled that he was a surviving member of the original ranks of the Royal Guard prior to Zant's coup and was a junior noncommissioned officer that seemed to take his responsibilities of the protection of the royal family very seriously. While Midna was consumed with the revelation of the soldier's identity, her peripheral vision caught a glimpse of her guardian turning back towards the way they'd came from and motioning for the young queen to follow; Jezebelle most likely intending to find an even more covert way to exit the palace. Midna on the other hand was not content to let such an opportunity slip away. While she had confidence in the covert protector's skills in subterfuge, the young queen was willing to try to get all the aid she could muster to escape the castle. She took a deep breath and brought her slender hands out of the sleeves of the robe and up to the edge of the garment's hood. With a silent prayer to the Pantheon that she was not misguided in this attempt to reach out for assistance, she threw back the concealing gray cloth; her angular features and fiery red hair being exposed for all to see. "We need your help Richter." Midna stated in a desperate tone, her pleading red eyes locked onto the visor soldier's helmet.

"My Queen!" Richter replied in shock as he quickly dropped to a knee and placed the gauntleted fist of his off hand against the breastplate of his armor. The outburst from the soldier drew an explosive reaction from Jezebelle, the queen's guardian tearing the hood from off of her head and bouncing an extended forefinger off of her lips while her other hand straightened into a knife edge that frantically waved back and forth across her throat.

"Please rise my good soldier." The young queen stated in a low tone as she quickly closed the distance with the guardsman in an effort to keep their conversation as secretive as possible. "I'm afraid we have no time for such protocol at the moment. I and my lady in waiting are in grave danger and must escape the palace."

"Why must you escape my Queen?" The soldier asked in a confused tone, careful to keep his own responses hushed as well. "If you are in danger then the Royal Guard is more than capable of protecting you.""I'm afraid it is not that simple my good soldier." Midna answered with a shake of her head. "Duchess Ekaterina has staged a coup, had her barbarian murder the High Pontifex and one of the monks from the archives, and he is currently hunting us."

"And with most of our ranks now filled by her men, you don't have the numbers to mount a capable defense against her." Richter replied in a defeated tone as he realized the gravity of the situation.

"Precisely." The young queen responded with a weak smile, impressed by the guardsman's grasp of the situation but feeling the weight of the world bearing down on her once more as the dire circumstances were articulated again. "Our only hope is to covertly escape the castle and find safe haven until we can gather the resources to oust the usurper. So I must implore you Richter, please let us pass so that we might survive this treachery and strike back it another day. It is all I would ask of you and I would consider it a personal favor that will be greatly rewarded when I am one day able to dole out such merits once more."

"I will do better than that my Queen." The loyal guardsman replied with a quick nod. "Proceed to the main gates of the keep. I will make my way there via an alternate route shortly after you depart. I will stand watch over the controls of the portcullis and ensure that they are open for you withdraw and experience a tragic malfunction if any of the Duchess' men should give chase."

"But what if you are discovered to be aiding me?" Midna asked in a worrisome voice.

"Then all the better, as that will allow me to buy you yet more time and further draw attention away from you my Queen." Richter answered in a determined tone. "Please do not wring your hands over the risk I take my Queen. I took a solemn oath to defend the Royal Family with my very life. Every day that I have donned the garb of my position, I have accepted that possibility. If today is the day that I must fulfill that oath to its fullest then so be it. I can think of no more honorable way to end my years than to give my last breath to assure your safety my Queen."

"I…" The young queen began, words failing her as the implications of what the soldier had just said sunk into her mind. Instead of relying on speech, she placed her slender hands on the sides of the warrior's helmet and lifted the armored headpiece free; her eyes locking with the warm amber colored eyes of the grizzled looking Twili. She stared into Richter's eyes wordlessly for a long moment before leaning in and planting a deep kiss on the soldier's cheek. "You have my deepest thanks Richter. This realm would be a far better place if more men like you were in it." Midna said in a voice just above a whisper.

"Thank you my Queen." The loyal guardsman said in a low voice, taking his own long look into the young queen's eyes before placing his hands over hers and sliding the black steel helmet back over his head. He gave Midna's hands a gentle squeeze before releasing them and giving a slow nod. "Go my Queen. We have delayed long enough."

The young queen reluctantly released her hands from Richter's armor then quickly donned the hood of her robe once more, Midna suddenly feeling incredibly self-conscious that she would burst into tears at any moment. Such was a sight she did not wish the soldier to see after having graced her with such soul reassuring words. She adjusted her hood once more to insure that her features were properly shadowed from sight before shooting a quick glance over to Jezebelle, to ensure she was prepared to leave as well. The covert protector did not disappoint the young queen's newly formed preconceptions about Jezebelle's actual mannerisms, as the guardian had already donned her own hood and was visually scanning the gardens outside for possible threats. Midna gave a nod to signal that she was ready, the gesture causing her protector to step lazily into the gardens; the duo resuming their slow amble towards the main gates of the keep. The young queen forced herself to not look back towards the doorway they'd just emerged from, though she did give silent prayers of thanks that they had crossed Richter's path and she offered whatever the Pantheon would ask if the loyal guardsman was permitted to survive his bid to aid the pair of escapees.

As they worked their way through the hedgerows, Midna's anxiety spiked once more; the young queen realizing that while they were closer to gates, they were also readily visible to any of the archers positioned along the battlements of the castle's defensive outer walls. Should the soldiers begin to rain down arrows upon them, the pair had no way of counter attacking and they had precious few spaces around them that would be capable of shielding them from the onslaught. The crushing, claustrophobic fear that weighed on Midna's mind while they were in the palace was now replaced with a paranoia that every pair of eyes in the entire world was fixated on her and the slightest misstep would cause the full fury of the entire realm to be brought down on her. It was no longer the constant expectation that the a cry of 'halt' would ring out near them that kept her on edge; rather it was replaced with the fear that she would only hear a slight hiss of air before an arrow ploughed into her heart and robbed her of her chance at future vengeance. All points being equal, she suddenly found herself wishing that she was still corralled along the passageways of the keep.

Though they progressed at a snail's pace, the duo eventually made their way through the gardens; setting foot onto the wide cobblestone road that led out from the palace and passing by the Grand Fountain as they approached the large gate that marked the exit of the courtyard. The young queen felt no sense of regret as they meandered the last bit of distance towards the archway, her mind too turbulent during the leg of the journey to have noticed the sound of babbling water and the scents of flowers in full bloom that usually eased her thoughts. The only emotion that shot through the anxious maelstrom in her consciousness was a mild relief that they were that much closer to being free of the fortress; the only section of the castle left to traverse was the long defensive corridor that jutted out from the main gate of the palace grounds. The menacing looking alleyway loomed before them on the other side of the gate; the corral's thick defensive walls squeezing any would be raiders of the keep into a single roadway that was lined with arrow slits and doors to disgorge defenders from.

The pair crossed through the gate and, by Midna's worrisome count, were roughly two dozen paces into the artificial canyon when young queen realized that her heartbeat slowed ever so slightly. It took her a moment to place the cause of the subconscious action and she found herself holding back a nervous laugh at the reasoning when it dawned on her. She was actually allowing herself the hope that the plan would actually work; that she and Jezebelle would really escape the palace unscathed. Ultimately though, it was a hope that died with Midna's next step.

"Halt!" A gruff voice called out from behind them, the sudden bark of a command causing the young queen to freeze mid-stride. The covert protector did a much better job of feinting innocence, Jezebelle easing to a stop and slowing turning to face the speaker; her head tilted at an inquisitive angle once more. "Back to the castle with you! No one is to leave!"

Midna forced herself to ease her feet flat against the cobblestone beneath her, though the rest of her body stubbornly refused to relax the muscles that were as taunt as the string of a fully drawn bow. Displaying a willpower that impressed even herself, she managed to overcome the near paralytic state that engulfed her and clumsily shuffled her feet to orient her body towards the speaker. Her gaze was drawn towards a pair of burly guards in the black plate armor of the Royal Guard, their gauntlet encased hands wrapped around the shafts of stout looking spears that were held diagonally across their body. At the edge of her vision she saw the covert protector withdraw her hands from the sleeves of the gray robe that concealed her identity and began to slowly make gestures, though the young queen's mind refused to divert attention away from the guardsmen long enough to make sense of her guardian's hand movements.

"Are you deaf or stupid?" One of the Royal Guards angrily shouted out as he closed the distance to Jezebelle with long, purposeful strides. "I said take your sorry arse back to the castle!" He commanded forcefully as he shot a hand up to the hood of the covert protector's garb and yanked back on the fabric, his actions exposing Jezebelle's features to the world.

"No…" Midna trailed off in a voice so weak that it could barely be called even a whisper, her gaze locked on to the enlarged, fear-filled golden eyes of her guardian. Jezebelle stood frozen in place, her lips desperately struggling to stammer out an explanation. Before the covert protector could succeed in her endeavor though, the free hand of the Royal Guard before her shot out to deliver a brutal punch to her abdomen. A yelp of pain escaped Jezebelle's lips as she doubled over and crumpled heavily to the cobblestones below, the sight drawing a cruel laugh from the guardsman that stood over her.

"Well, well, well." The Royal Guard commented in an amused tone. "If it isn't the mousy little nursemaid of the royal tramp. Looks like we've found our murderers." The burly man commented before turning his attention towards the young queen, the guardsman pointing his spear towards her for the added emphasis of a blatant threat. "Which means our other 'monk' must be the spoiled bitch herself. Watch the servant." He ordered the other Royal Guard. "I'll handle the 'queen' myself."

The young queen's mind screamed out to her to fight or flee but her muscles refused to respond, a glazed look in her red eyes as her gaze was locked on to the fallen form of her guardian. The tortured moans of Jezebelle filled the air, the covert protector hidden from sight as she writhed in pain within the expansive fabric of the gray robe. Midna's only viable means of defense had just been felled by a single blow. With the trained guardian out of the equation there was no hope for her to be able to escape from this confrontation alive and free. All was lost. She closed her eyes and lowered her head, her body acting of its own will to accept her fate while her mind subconsciously hoped that she would at least be killed outright where she stood. Midna's eyes snapped back open though as a ferocious war cry split the thick air; her sight desperately working to process the flurry of movement before her.

Jezebelle's lithe form shot out from within the now discarded robe, light glinting off of the polished steel surfaces of the kukris that were clutched in each of her hands. The edges of the blades were oriented skyward, the weapons rapidly eating away at the distance to the groin of the Royal Guard that stood over what had appeared to be the disabled servant. A shocked gasp barely escaped the confines of the guardsman's helmet as Jezebelle quickly stood; her arms shooting up as less than a few inches remained between the kukris and their target. The edges of the weapons slammed into the crease between the burly man's legs and pelvis, the blades biting into and through the thin chainmail that protected the gaps in the armor. A frantic scream of pain echoed off of the walls of the defensive alleyway as the kukris sliced deep into the Royal Guard's tender flesh, bright red blood shooting past the blades in thick spurts from the neatly severed femoral arteries. In spite of the mortal wound already inflicted on the guardsman, Jezebelle's battle cry only intensified more as she continued to bring herself up to her full height and locking her arms out towards the skies above; the man's size and his heavy armor seeming to pose no obstacle to the deceptively lithe frame of the covert protector as she lifted him free of the ground, her adrenaline fueled attack making the feat of strength possible.

Eventually gravity eventually took over, the rapidly dying guardsman limply slipping backwards from the blood coated kukris as his ear-splitting scream transformed into low whimpers. Even as the guardsman crumpled heavily to the cobblestones with the sound of clanking metal, Jezebelle had spun towards the next guardsman and a sound that could only be described as a roar forced its way out of the depths of her lungs as she shifted into a low stance with the gore dripping weapons held out wide from her body. The remaining Royal Guard answered with a shout of his own as he oriented his spear towards the queen's protector, the war cry spoiled by nervous undercurrents as he charged towards the blood splattered visage of Jezebelle. The guardian stood her ground as the guardsman barreled towards her, side-stepping the point of the weapon at the last second and bring one of the kukris down heavily on the wooden shaft of the spear. The blade cleaved through the material with no visible resistance so close to the clinched fist of the Royal Guard that it was a wonder that no fingers joined the end of the weapon as it fell to the ground. In barely the blink of an eye, Jezebelle brought her other blade up in preparation for a cross body blow before letting the weapon fly towards the neck of the guardsman. The force of the strike and the momentum of the man's charge caused the kukri to easily slice through the chainmail of the Royal Guard's coif, his half-hearted battle cry abruptly ending as he was cleanly decapitated.

"RUN!" The queen's guardian bellowed as she snapped her bloodied face in Midna's direction, her command coming out so quickly that it was heard even before the momentum fueled awkwardly stumbling corpse of the beheaded guardsman fell to the ground. The thunderous order served to strip away the unseen force that had held the young queen fast, Midna sharply turning on the balls of her feet and lunging forward into a full sprint towards the gates of the defensive corridor. The portcullis seemed to be miles away though she knew it to be only a few hundred yards distant, the walls of the artificial canyon seeming to stretch out to ensure that she was kept from reaching her goal. The wind that whipped past her running figure quickly threw the hood back from her head, her newfound unhindered view of the surrounds causing her heart to sink even further.

The battlements of the defensive corridor were lined with archers, each pointing bows down into the alleyway, their arrows being drawn back to rain down death on the helpless duo. Midna closed her eyes tightly as she ran, not wanting to see the sight of a projectile speeding towards her for the killing blow. An arrow that for all she knew could be fired not even by one of the Duchess' men but rather one the original Royal Guards that were simply seeking to avenge the murder of their two compatriots that they'd just witnessed. She darkly mused at what she assumed would be a final irony when her eyes sudden snapped open as a thought crossed her mind. She had to have loyalists on the battlements, she just had to show them who they were about to attack.

"Stay your hand my good soldiers!" She frantically shouted in a booming voice that she drew from depths that she didn't even realize she had access to. She focused her mind on the image of herself that was most iconic, the revealing black silk outfit that she'd so commonly worn when she was still only a princess. She focused her thoughts on the figure she'd conjured and after mentally adding the Crown of Fused Shadows to the head of the self-styled image she projected it outwards. While never breaking stride, she threw off of the billowing monk's robe with one hand while her other drew the rapier she'd tucked into her belt.

The garment was cast aside to reveal not the young queen as she was actually clad but rather it was the magic fueled illusion she had concocted in her mind that was presented to the world. She felt a small glimmer of hope creep into her thoughts as she noticed some of the bowmen instantly drop their aim out of line with Midna. "Duchess Ekaterina has betrayed us! Her men are trying to assassinate me! Defend me brave soldiers! Defend your Kingdom from a new Usurper!" She shouted, intentionally scanning the entire lengths of the battlement as she pleaded her case on the run. Once more, the young queen felt hope rise in her heart before it was dashed as an arrow whistled by in front of her; the projectile missing her by a scant foot before it bounced off of the cobblestones beside her.

The shot caused the ramparts of the walls to burst into a violent flurry of motion as the attempt to fell the young queen caused the loyalties of the Royal Guardsmen stationed on the wall to manifest in the form of a full battle. Arrows filled the skies above as the two warring factions of soldiers traded shots, the visual accompanied by the sound of clashing steel as Royal Guards of opposing sides that had happened to be close to one another drew their long swords and engaged in melee. Despite the conflict between the two equally well equipped and trained forces, a few of the Duchess' men instead elected to attack the pair of escapees; the archers firing arrows on the duo, far too many of the shots passing entirely too close.

"Move erratically!" Jezebelle shouted out from her position running alongside Midna. "Change directions suddenly! Start and stop randomly! Don't allow them to have a predictable target!" The young queen immediately heeded the advice, varying her movements as a slight smile tugged at the corner of her lips. She could do better than just comply by the advice. Once more she focused her thoughts on an altered reality, imagining the projected image of her iconic form randomly winking in and out of existence at different points. Just as in her mind, Midna's form disappeared from view for a brief moment before reappearing a few feet from her original position. Her location continued to jump short distances from one point to another as she ran; the young queen not actually teleporting but merely concealing her actual location, that had never changed, and instead projecting the illusion of her being elsewhere nearby.

The magically trickery was yielding amazing results, the arrows of the enemy bowmen passing close by and sometimes through the false projections of Midna's form; the simple arcane trick serving to avoid the missiles as effectively as Jezebelle's reliance on her own impressive natural agility did. The once impossible distance between the duo and the exit from the defensive corridor had seemed to disappear; the maw of the front gates of the castle complex loomed larger and larger with each long stride. The young queen's smile widened as she realized that they were actually going to make it out of the fortress alive. The smile quickly faded though as a heavy door on the wall closest to Midna burst open, four guardsmen piling out onto the cobblestone road. The last shred of hope that they might have been loyalists died as they oriented their weapons towards the pair.

Dark thoughts once more clawed at the back of the young queen's mind, her thoughts bemoaning the fact that she had come so close only to be thwarted now. The light faded from her eyes for a brief moment but it quickly burned bright once more, her face a mask of rage as her hand on the hilt of her rapier tightened to an iron grip. 'I am going to survive this! I am not going to die here!' She furiously scolded herself. Midna was through with feeling sorry and helpless. She was armed and she had an opponent that she could actually fight against. It was high time to stop proving Ekaterina right. A hellish war cry emitted from the young queen's lips as she ate up the distance to the four enemy guardsmen, her legs pumping even faster as they drew from reserves of strength that hadn't existed moments before.

She discontinued her magical illusions a heartbeat before she had reached her opponents, her actual appearance and location winking back into existence as she drew the rapier back for a brutal horizontal slash. She peered into the inky shadows of the guardsman's visor, unable to see the eyes of the man that was going to be the first life she had ever taken. The thought briefly flashed in her head about how the first opponent that many felled was preceded with deep philosophy and a longing to understand the opposition's view point; a regretful action that contained a deeply rooted respect for the warrior across from you. All of it was rubbish. Midna's only thought was that the man before her was stupid enough to side with a traitor. There was no sympathy, only hate. She ignored the visor and instead focused on the large great axe he wielded; the weapon held defensively across his body. There was no way she could parry it with her thin blade, she would require trickery. A smile tugged once more at the corners of her mouth as she further intensified her battle cry and strode the last feet to engage the guardsman.

The collision with the Royal Guard never came. Instead the young queen slid to a stop, the leather soles of her boots scraping loudly against the cobblestones as momentum carried her a few more inches after her legs stopped moving. Midna's action were a stark contrast to her protector's, the guardian launching herself forward to leap at the enemy she had been bearing down on. Jezebelle sailed through the air, her jump easily causing her to clear the large shield that the guardsman had drawn tight to his body as he'd braced for an expected impact. While still diving through the air, the queen's guardian sunk the points of her kukris into the chainmail that surrounded the neck opening of the guardsman's breastplate; the blades quickly buried themselves to hilt and the scream of agony from the Royal Guard grew louder as Jezebelle used the weapons for leverage as she brought her legs under her to hook them over her enemy's shoulders. As the pain from the wounds and the force of the impact unbalanced the armor clad man and caused him to teeter backwards, Midna returned her attention to the guardsman she was facing off against.

The Royal Guard across from the young queen took her hesitation as a sign of doubt and forsake his own defense as he raised his menacing looking great axe high above his head in preparation for a powerful downward blow. The man's hubris was his fatal mistake, his actions playing right into Midna's plans. As the guardsman raised the axe over and behind his helmed head, the chainmail protecting the man's armpit grew as the gap between his breastplate and the heavy plate armor that encased upper arm widened. The young queen quickly seized on the opportunity and side stepped with all the speed and grace of a predatory feline, her sword arm flashing out as the point of the rapier barreled towards the exposed links of the secondary layer of armor. The force behind the strike caused the blade to penetrate the chainmail with ease, the weapon sinking deep into enemy's upper chest cavity. A weak grunt escaped the confines of the Royal Guard's helmet as the large great axe slipped from his gauntleted hands and clattered loudly to the roadway behind him. Midna acted quickly, not wanting to risk the off chance that the man could recover from the shock of the wound, and rapidly twisted the rapier as though it were the hand crank of a well. The sharpened blade wreaked havoc on the guardsman's heart and lungs, the rapier's edges shredding the vital organs before the young queen yanked the weapon out of the body of the guardsman a heartbeat before the corpse went limp and dropped to the ground in a cacophony of clattering armor.

Midna had no time to celebrate her victory though, the young queen having to quickly duck down to avoid what would've been a fatal blow as the three spiked steel orbs of a flail careened through the air inches above the crown of her head. She wasted no time as she lunged forward, the tip of her rapier oriented towards the narrow visor of the Royal Guard that had just attempted to brain her. She thrust the weapon out as far as her reach would allow, Midna desperate to land her blow before her enemy could recover from the follow through of his first strike. The guardsman had just begun to stop the movement of his arm and rotate his wrist to lash out with the weapon once more when the narrow blade of the young queen's rapier disappeared into the narrow slit of her enemy's helmet. There was a scream for half a heartbeat, then the sound suddenly cut off as Midna felt more resistance in the hilt of the weapon as more of its length was swallowed up in the shadows of the Royal Guard's head piece.

The young queen's adrenaline fueled strike caused the rapier to plunge deeper still into the helmet of the obviously dead guardsman, a jolt running up her arm as the blade stuck something very solid and refused to travel further. She jerked back on the rapier as the corpse began to fall forward, though the weapon wouldn't budge. Midna tugged back on the weapon even harder to no avail and watched the body as it drew closer to the ground. The hilt was jarred free as a loud snap sounded out, the blade breaking off at the point where it disappeared into the corpse's helmet; the thin steel unable to take the strain of the weight of the falling body combined with the strength of the young queen's grip. Midna cursed under her breath as her eyes lingered on the shortened blade for a brief moment and turned her gaze to the fourth Royal Guard that had yet to be engaged.

Thankfully her eyes fell not on a charging guardsman but rather the lithe form of Jezebelle quickly rising up from the heap of another dispatched Royal Guard. Midna turned towards the exit to resume her run towards the gate when pain exploded into her shoulder blade and a force slammed her torso forward as if someone had just heavily slapped her on the back. The broken rapier slipped free of her fingers while a quick yelp escaped her lips. No other screams followed the sound of pain and surprise, in spite of the intense burning sensation spreading through her upper back. Moving slowly, as if in a dream, the young queen craned her head over her shoulder and saw the familiar lines of her form; the ashen skin of her shoulder and arm peeking out from the loose gaps in the black silk fabric. As her gaze moved further back, the familiarity ended. It ended in the form of the dark wood of an arrow shaft that protruded from her back.

Midna gasped in shock at the sight, her widened red eyes tracking the angle of the projectile to its source; her feet shuffling on their own as she turn around and oriented her gaze back down the man-made canyon towards the keep. Her sight settled on a lone figure standing in the center of the portcullis on the opposite end of the defensive corridor, the luminous image of a crude skull peeking out from behind an empty longbow.

"Run." A voice whispered out, the voice somehow familiar yet sounding so very far way. The young queen couldn't comply with the advice though; her body unable to move and her eyes locked onto the figure of the barbarian as his hand reached back and withdrew another arrow from the quiver on his back.

"Run." The voice whispered again, Midna still unable to focus long enough to place where she knew it from. She instinctively brought her hands up to shield herself, though she knew it wouldn't protect her much; and with the rate that her arms were moving, the limbs feeling like they were filled with lead, they wouldn't have a chance protect her at all.

"Run." The quiet voice repeated. The young queen ignored it. Within seconds it wouldn't matter anyway. Her thoughts began to wander and she found herself again wishing that she hadn't destroyed the Mirror of Twilight. If Link were here he would've been able to protect her. He could've taken on all comers. There would've never been a need to escape the castle. They could've taken it back right then and there. If Zelda were here she could help Midna rebuild her kingdom greater than before. Everything would've been right in the world. Instead all those that were loyal to her would be killed or worse. And she could only hope to be killed quickly. She didn't want to be kept alive for the perverse punishments to come from Ekaterina or her Barbarian. She wished as hard as she could that her two friends from the light realm could magically appear and help her. The noble princess and the brave hero coming to rescue just like in the tales her mother spun for her when she was a child. It was all she had left.

Her thoughts were interrupted as a single arrow flew lazily overhead, the missile moving so slowly that the young queen wondered how it could just hang in mid-air, the projectile on a path that was leading towards her executioner. She was enthralled by the sight of the arrow it made its way towards the barbarian, though she wondered why he didn't attempt to move out of the way of the meandering projectile; or for that matter why he was taking so much time to draw another arrow into his bow. The missile impacted against the warrior's bow, the arrow snapping wood of the weapon apart and continuing to travel as it dug into the barbarian's breastplate and caused him to stagger backwards. The scene before her eyes disappeared as a large, dark mass appeared in front of her face to obscure the view of the corridor.

"RUN DAMNIT!" Jezebelle screamed into Midna's face, rage filling the protector's eyes and thick veins bulging out of her neck and forehead. The urgent words of the guardian and the spittle that was unintentionally sprayed over the young queen's features snapped her back to reality as the world began to once again move at its proper, and at the moment very frantic, pace. Though it was quickly revealed that Midna had been broken free of the haze a moment too late as an arrow passed between the pair of escapees.

Midna's senses were again overloaded with pain as the arrow shot down from the battlements slammed into the back of her left hand; the projectile ripping through her flesh and bone with such force that when it finally came to rest, each half of its shaft jutted out from both sides of her hand. A full scream erupted from her this time, the young queen unable to tear her eyes from the ragged wounds around the shaft of the arrow. Her free hand shot to the wrist of her wounded arm, the usually simple and automatic task made harder by the pain that it caused to flare up in the wound on her back and the absence of muscles that had been destroyed by the same injury. She continued to cry out as she saw dark crimson blood flow freely from her hand and noticed the odd angles that her middle and ring fingers hung limply at. She almost wished for the surreal haze she'd experienced from the first arrow she'd been hit with.

"FORGET IT! JUST RUN!" The guardian shouted as she took hold of the shaft of the missile that jutted out from Midna's palm and jerked it away from the young queen's hand. Midna screamed louder and hissed out a venomous curse as the quills of the arrow passed through her damaged hand, the removal of the projectile followed by the ejection of a large glob of blood as it cleared her flesh. The young queen wasn't given an opportunity to react to her protector's actions further as Jezebelle's hand clamped down on the triceps muscles of Midna's right arm and took off at a dead run for the nearby gates, the guardian nearly dragging her along until the young queen was able to get her feet under herself and begin to run as well. "Keep moving! Press your thumb as hard as you can into the bottom of your wrist! I'll bandage you properly when we're safe!" Jezebelle shouted as they passed beneath the portcullis and took their first steps off of the castle grounds.

Midna simply nodded and did as instructed as she gritted he teeth against the pain and pumped her legs as hard as she could to try to keep up with her protector. Even though the fiery burning sensation from her wounds occupied so much of her thoughts that it impaired her ability to focus on much of anything else, the young queen's mind couldn't help but turn to dark thoughts as she wonder if they'd ever actually be safe at all anymore. They had escaped the fortress but the countryside that stretched out as far as the eye could see from the base of the solitary hill that the Palace of Twilight was situated on seemed like a vast ocean of uncertainty; in a sea in which trust and sanctuary could prove to be a hard bounty to fish out from its infinite depths. She loosed an amused snort as she couldn't help but wonder if she'd been better off trying to fend off the entire castle single-handedly.


	10. Chapter 10

"You shall not send her into the arms of death today savage." The loyalist Royal Guardsman hissed out in a low tone, the vow echoing no further than the confines of his own helmet as his gauntleted fingers released their hold on the taut bowstring. The twine cord shot forward as it was freed from the soldier's grasp, momentum snapping the bowstring forward and forcefully launching the arrow perched on it towards the missile's intended victim. The arrow ate away the distance to the Guardsman's target in the blink of an eye, the projectile hitting its mark as it slammed into the bow of the barbarian in the defensive corridor below. The force of the impact caused the stressed wood of the enemy's drawn bow to snap in two, the missile continuing forward to bury into the barbarian's black steel breastplate. The blow from the soldier's arrow combined with the two pieces of the broken bow slamming into the enemy's face, caused him to stumble backwards a step.

Richter had disarmed the most immediate assassination threat to his Queen but simply removing his current means to attack the rightful ruler of the Twilight Kingdom wasn't enough for the soldier's tastes. He quickly decided that the murderous barbarian had drawn breath for far too long as it was. Never taking his cold gaze off of the stunned form of the enemy warrior, Richter reached down to the quiver of arrows strapped across the back of the corpse of a Rebel Guardsman he'd run through. His fingers were about to close around a fresh projectile when he noticed that he no longer saw the figures of Queen Midna or her 'lady-in-waiting' that had surprisingly transformed into a brutally effective bodyguard. The loyalist Royal Guardsman quickly abandoned his intention to fire on the barbarian again and shot forward, throwing caution to the wind as he craned his head out of the arrow slit to try to locate the pair of escapees.

Unable to see the duo, Richter surmised that they must have passed under the elevated gatehouse and through the portcullis onto the path that lead down the side of the hill. The Queen was safely out of the castle and the soldier was going to ensure that she was permitted to continue enjoying that status. He withdrew his head back into the confines of the small room, tossing the bow he'd been using onto the body of the Rebel Guardsman that he'd taken it from as he quickly made his way to another one of the corpses that littered the floor of the gatehouse. The soldier paid no mind to the stilled forms of the men that less than an hour ago he'd counted as brothers-in-arms, nor were his hardened amber eyes lingering on the attention drawing contrast created by the crimson blood splattered across the dark gray stone walls.

Any hesitation he might've felt at killing his fellow Guardsmen was erased when he originally arrived at the gatehouse and announced the situation to the four men posted inside; each of which promptly drew steel on him. Having to defend oneself from attackers bent on killing one tended to erase all manner of sympathy and civility. It was that mentality that caused Richter to think of the four causalities in the room as little more than piles of trash, no thought of regret being given when he kicked aside the decapitated body of a Rebel Guardsmen to retrieve great axe that the enemy soldier had wielded against the loyalist Guardsman mere moments before. His gauntleted hands firmly wrapped around the hilt of the heavy weapon as he hoisted it up onto his shoulder and turned his gaze towards the large pulley system that currently held the portcullis below aloft.

The soldier forced himself to regulate his breathe to deep, slow heaves as he stepped up alongside the chain encircled wooden wheel and planted his feet in a wide, sturdy stance. He bellowed out a long, deep war cry as he hefted the great axe off of his armor's spaulders and drew it back over his shoulders. As soon as his arms traveled towards his back as far as they could stretch, he shot his shoulders down and towards the gate's opening mechanism. His arms didn't move at first, waiting half a heart beat before lashing his arms out towards the device with a lightning quick speed. The blade of the axe raised a thunderous clang and a shower of pale yellow sparks as it rammed into a link on the chain that was tightly coiled around the pulley wheel and ate deep into the steel. The strained chain link violently snapped as the weapon completely bisected it and caused the two new ends of the chain to whip away from each other with the explosive force of their pent up energy. The damage to the mechanism continued as Richter's momentum and the power in his still not fully extended arms kept driving the heavy head of the great axe forward, the sound of wood splintering ringing out in the confines of the gate house as the entire pulley system was torn free of its housing and slammed into the nearby wall. The loyalist Guardsman's war cry subsided just as a thunderous crash sounded out from below him, a deep tremor reverberating in the stone underneath his feet as the massive portcullis slammed into the ground with all the mighty power that gravity provided.

The soldier held his white knuckled grip on the great axe for a moment as dust began to waft up into the gatehouse from the impact of the gate hitting the roadway below, his mind slightly stunned at how well his attempt to bar the gate had worked. He briefly contemplated attempting to free the weapon that was lodged deeply in the solid wooden spool of the destroyed mechanism but ultimately surmised that it would far too much waste of effort to gain a single weapon more to the already numerous amount of discarded arms scattered about the room and released his hold on the hilt of the great axe. The thought of the available weapons caused him to slowly sweep his eyes across the charnel house scene laid out in the space surrounding him as he brought himself up to his full height once more. He found his thoughts strangely conflicted as his realized that he'd successfully fulfilled his promise to aid the Queen's flight but was unsure of what exactly he was to do now. There was no way he could dispatch the entire force that Ekaterina had at her disposal and of course surrender was out of the question.

Richter acknowledged to himself without regret that he was in his final moments on this mortal coil; the only real question was how to spend that final time. Simply walk back out onto the battlements and try to take as many of the traitor's men with him as he could? A classic blaze of final glory, a death no warrior would be ashamed of. But he couldn't help but ask himself what such a sacrifice would accomplish; even if he took a dozen of the Kingdom's newly revealed enemies with him, Ekaterina had many more troops in her nearby holdings to replenish losses from. A small smile crept onto his otherwise grim features as an old adage came to the forefront of his thoughts, 'When caught in turmoil, rely upon your knowledge'.

He instantly shifted his thoughts to the military matters he knew best and attempted to view the situation through the lens of what would help be most helpful to the mission. He faltered briefly as he found himself wondering exactly what his current mission could be considered. His survival was moot, he could not inflict lasting casualties on the enemy, and the Queen had successfully escaped. He gave himself a solemn nod as he decided on what his mission was, to give Queen Midna as much of a head start to wherever she was fleeing to for refuge. He would ensure that he denied access to the remains of the portcullis opening mechanism for as long as possible. However it was not a task he could accomplish alone.

The loyalist Guardsman shot forward towards one of the two doors that lead back onto the battlements, unsheathing his great sword from across his back as he opened the door and stepped back into the midst of the still raging battle. Combat returned to him more quickly than he excepted, Richter nearly colliding with another Guardsman who had been reaching for the door that the loyalist soldier had just opened. "Friend or foe to the Queen?" Richter curtly challenged as he shifted his weapon into a defensive posture. When the startled Guardsman raised his shield and drew back his long sword in preparation for lashing out with a thrust, the answer became obvious to the loyalist.

Realizing that he had no time strike out with his large great sword, Richter instead used the close quarters of himself and his enemy to his advantage as he twisted his body to the side and rammed his shoulder into the shield of the rebel Guardsman with all the force he could muster. His weight advantage over the slightly smaller enemy soldier worked to the loyalist Guardsman's benefit, the unexpected tactic causing the traitor to stumble backwards and allow his blade to dip down. It was an opening that Richter didn't intend to waste as he brought his own sword back in preparation for a horizontal cross-body slash at the enemy warrior and stepped towards the man to maximize the force behind the blow.

A scream erupted from the rebel Guardsman as the blade bit deep into his sword arm, the edge of the weapon quickly tearing through the entire right arm of the man as the loyalist Guardsman's sword ripped into the breastplate of the enemy soldier's armor and began cutting deep into the rebel warrior's flank. The sound of the steel encased severed arm clattering to the stones below rang out as the force of Richter's blow continued to cause the enemy soldier to be thrown to the side of the path, the loyalist Guardsman pushing even harder against the resistance of the man's rapidly weakening legs as he guided the mortally wounded enemy towards the nearby ramparts. A final push was that was needed to allow physics to take over and send the rebel Guardsman tumbling over the low wall that ran along the battlements, Richter jerking his great sword free of the body as it hurled towards the ground below.

As the sound of the armored corpse impacting against the stones of the roadway rang out, the loyalist Guardsman stepped up on the rampart the rebel had just been thrown from and thrust his sword up into the air as high as his armor would allow and bellowed out a command that echoed down the entire length of the defensive corridor. "Soldiers still loyal to our one true Queen! To me!" Richter roared out at a volume that he didn't think any Twili, let alone himself, could muster out of the depths of their lungs.

The forceful command seemed to have stunned the entire melee for a brief moment, as all participants cease their actions mid execution and turned their eyes towards the loyalist Guardsman. The unintended truce was quickly shattered though, one Guardsman of unknown affiliation snapping his gaze back towards his opponent and running the bewildered opposing soldier through with a lightning quick thrust before turning and dashing towards Richter's position. "I am with you sir!" The victor shouted out as he rapidly approached from the nearest perpendicular battlement. The pledge seemed to snap the various warriors back to reality as the sword play and exchange of arrows resumed in full ferocity.

Common sense quickly regained its foot hold in the loyal Guardsman's thoughts as he stepped down from the battlements, realizing that he'd just made himself the biggest target on the entire battlefield. He hurriedly rushed towards the corner of the battlements, eager to link up with the loyalist that just announced his intentions. He had just reached the bend in the pathway when a doorway of the elevated tower that capped off the turn in the outer walls of the defensive corridor burst outwards and a Guardsman strode onto the battlements. A slight stutter in his step as he saw himself being approached from two directions and an unintentional action of pulling his mace and shield tighter to his body had the effect of Richter instantly classifying the newcomer as a rebel soldier.

The enemy Guardsman apparently couldn't decide who of the two loyalists bearing down on him was the bigger threat and was shifting his shield slightly from one the other. It was yet another signal of the man's nervousness that the loyalist Guardsman planned to exploit. Richter drew back his great sword over his shoulder at an angle, intentionally exaggerating his movements in order to make his opponent believe that he was preparing to deliver a slow but potentially devastating downward diagonal blow. The rebel warrior was drawn completely into the feint, raising his shield high and spreading his feet to establish a solid base for his body to absorb the coming blow. As a final selling point, the loyalist soldier unleashed a fearsome war cry just as he closed the last bit of distance to the enemy Guardsman.

The overhead blow was never delivered, instead Richter stopped short and brought his leg up before bringing his armored foot crashing down on the front of the enemy warrior's knee. The thin armored plate that jutted up from the suit's greave that was designed to protect the joint quickly snapped free under the weight of the armored loyalist soldier's stomp, the sound of the metal breaking free followed quickly by the sound of the man's knee snapping as the joint was forcefully rammed backwards. The rebel soldier quickly collapsed to the ground his screams of pain quickly cut short as Richter spun his great sword to adjust his grip for a downward strike and slammed the point of the weapon into the slit in the helmet of the crippled opponent.

The loyalist Guardsman snapped his gaze up to the approaching form of his fellow loyalist as he planted his foot on the breastplate of the enemy he'd just dispatched and called out a command to his new ally as he dislodged his gore slick blade from the corpse of the rebel soldier. "Head into the gatehouse and check the other battlement for more of our brothers! Aid them however possible then fall back into the gatehouse and begin to fortify it however you can!"

"Yes sir!" The fellow loyalist replied with a quick nod, the man not breaking his stride as he rounded the corner of the battle and ran towards the squat structure that jutted up from the battlements.

Richter quickly shifted his gaze from the new ally passing him to the direction of the battlement that the fellow loyalist had just came from, seeking out signs of any other Guardsmen loyal to the Queen that were approaching. The vision that laid before him was a bleak one though; the battle seemed to be coming to a resolution, one that didn't favor the loyalists. There was one archer tough that was in a dead out sprint towards Richter with several Guardsmen armed with melee weapons giving chase. The loyalist guardsman quickly assessed the sight and decided that if the bowman was hostile, he would've fired on him instead of rushing into a close fight against him.

"Hurry!" Richter called out in an urgent tone, frantically waving the archer towards him with his off-hand. The scene quickly became worse as another bowman darted past the pursuing heavy armored Guardsmen in pursuit with a drawn longbow, the rebel soldier taking aim on the fleeing loyalist archer. The loyalist Guardsman opened his mouth to shout a warning but before he could form the words, an arrow sailed across the gap of the defensive corridor and buried itself directly into the ear of the enemy archer. Barely a heartbeat had gone by before another arrow shot across the empty air from the opposite battlement and struck one of the rebel Guardsmen in the neck, the arrowhead punching through the thin chainmail and digging deep into the man's throat.

"Quickly! You are clear!" Richter implored to the fleeing bowman once more, his pursuers abandoning their chase to seek cover from the deadly accurate hail of missiles being directed at them from what the loyalist Guardsman could only assume was a sympathetic archer. "Into the gatehouse! Now!" He commanded as the retreating bowman blew past him, Richter quickly falling into a run behind the sprinting man. The loyalist Guardsman saw the archer enter the shadows beyond the doorway of the structure and within a few more seconds, burst into the room himself and slammed the door shut behind him before throwing his full weight against the thick wood.

Richter's breaths came in deep heaves as he quickly took visual stock of the situation inside the gatehouse. He saw that the opposite door was currently held ajar by an exhausted looking female Guardsman, a wide stream of blood slowly oozing out of a long horizontal cut that began at her temple and matted her blood stained gray hair to the side of her head. He barely had time to notice how badly dented her armor was in several places before he directed his gaze to her.  
"Pull anybody left back in here!" The newly and unofficially established loyalist leader commanded to one of his equally newly and unofficially established subordinates.

"Yes sir!" The woman responded in a voice that carried with a strength that seemed impossible given her current state. "Fall back!" She shouted out into the air beyond the door. Almost immediately after the female loyalist Guardsman relayed the orders a female archer sprinted into the room with a feline grace, her thin black chainmail armor seeming to not impede her movements at all; her blood red eyes alertly scanning the room with an almost predatory shine to them. On the heels of the female archer was the original swordsman that Richter had joined forces with, the man's shield now home to at least a half dozen arrows imbedded deeply into its steel face.

The loyalist swordsman landed a heavy slap on the spaulder of the female Guardsman as he entered the room, the action causing the instantaneous reaction of the injured soldier to abandon her hold on the door and dart further into the room; the swordsman in turn closing and leaning against the door in the same fashion as Richter.

"You three," The loyalist leader called out to the two archers and female Guardsman. "Grab weapons, furniture, pieces of armor from these bodies, whatever you can find to wedge these doors and arrow slits shut. We've got to fortify this room as best as possible and hold it for as long as we can."  
"Right away Captain…?" The injured soldier asked, verbally seeking out the name of the ad-hoc group's leader.

"Richter." The loyalist leader replied, a tired smile springing into existence underneath his helmet. "Corporal Richter."

"Understood Captain." The female Guardsman replied with a warmth visible in her pale blue eyes. "Private Livia by the way." She added with a tap of a finger against her breastplate before turning to carry out the orders she'd been given, a shaft of light filtering in from partially ajar arrow silt revealing the markings of a Royal Guard sergeant on her armor. Richter ignored Livia's strange need to apparently promote him while demoting herself and instead nodded his head towards the swordsman.

"What about you?" The loyalist leader asked in as cordial a voice as he could muster.

"Corporal Lucas at your service." The sword and shield wielding Guardsman answered in an unnaturally calm voice, lifting one of his hands free from the door to lift his helmet up enough to reveal a red goatee and a pair of red eyes with a sly edge to them. Lucas bowed his head slightly before settling his helmet back into place.

"Malachai." The male archer chimed in nervously as he busied himself with using his dagger to cut through the leather straps that held the armor worn by the corpses in the room in place. Only after he'd spoken did Richter note how young Malachai looked; the archer couldn't be more than a summer or two into manhood and judging by the shaky hand he was running through his black hair, he was as green as a soldier could be.

A long silence filled the air before all eyes turned to the female archer who had yet to speak, the woman's long yellow hair swaying back and forth as she went about trying to rock the great axe free from the pulley spool that the loyalist leader had buried it in earlier. It took a long moment before she glanced up and realized that everyone was staring at her, an annoyed sigh escaped her lips as she stood up from her task and turned to face her fellow loyalists.

"It doesn't matter what my name is," She replied in an irritated tone as she gave a shrug and a shake of her head. "Call me 'dirty whore' for all I care. Why bother with pleasantries? We're here for one reason only right? Our lives for time for the Queen right? I'd rather not waste the little time I have left developing bonds of friendship with people that I'll never leave the room with."

* * *

Raze hissed out a curse in his native barbarian tongue as he ripped a length of gray cloth free from one of the discarded robes that the escaping royal and her escort had been using as disguises. He moved with a slow, intimidating looking precision as he brought the strip of material to his forehead and centered it on the ragged looking gash that ran from his right eye brow up to just shy of his hairline. With a firm tug the barbarian wrapped the tails of the improvised dressing around his pale white braids and secured it with a knot that pulled the fabric tight enough that it likely would've caused a headache in most people. Raze didn't bother with a bandaging the injury's twin, an equally gruesome looking tear in his flesh that ran from his right cheek and dipped below his jawline, content to let it slowly ooze blood down his neck before disappearing behind his breastplate. His concerns weren't preventing exsanguination, infection, or even for aesthetic reasons; he wouldn't even have worried with the wound along his forehead if not for the fact that blood dripping into his eye was an annoyance to him. The barbarian rose up from his squat with a slight sound of his armor creaking, a few stray droplets still seeping from his face splattering on the cobblestones at his feet as surveyed his surroundings.

The battle that had been raging along the length of the defensive corridor had been won for all intents and purposes, most of Ekaterina's men busyed themselves with picking through their fallen enemies or tending to wounds of their comrades. The sole point of activity that seemed to diverge from the rest was at both sides of the elevated gatehouse, small groups of men had positioned themselves at each door and appeared to be in the process of attempting to beat them down. A quick glance at the heavy iron portcullis hanging below the gatehouse and preventing access to the roadway beyond served as all the explanation Raze needed to grasp the situation. His gaze shifted to the nearby form of one of soldiers loyal to the Duchess as the man finished slicing the throat of one of the opposing Royal Guards that had been laying wounded on the cobblestone roadway. "Soldier." The barbarian called out, his gravelly voice taking on a curt yet commanding tone.

"Yes sir?" The warrior inquired as he quickly rose from his squatting position alongside the enemy corpse and trotted up to the imposing figure of Raze. While the barbarian's position as Ekaterina's personal bodyguard had no official standing in her men at arms' chain of command, the vast majority of her soldiers complied with his requests either out of fear or deferring to his superior knowledge of warfare.

"Tell them to cease their assault." Raze commanded, nodding his head towards the gatehouse. "Anyone in there has had plenty of time to destroy the mechanism to control the portcullis." He explained. The Barbarian was loathe to waste his time explaining what he felt were obvious conclusions that only a fool could not draw, but he often found that even the most stubborn of the Duchess' men would heed the advice of 'some damned barbarian' if he included his reasoning for issuing a command. Normally Raze was content to let them look like idiots until they actually adopted his plans but his amusement would have to wait, every second wasted was another yard's distance that Midna was putting between herself and the castle. That in and of itself would not have given the barbarian cause for concern but it was not the recently disposed Queen that was the problem, it was her recently exposed guardian that was the genesis for the sense of urgency within Raze's mind. The woman was clearly both a trained warrior and skilled spy judging by her combat performance and the fact that she had kept her identity so well hidden since the beginning of her involvement with Midna. The barbarian wanted prey with those skills to have as little lead on him as possible, lest the trail be lost.

"Leave a token force, mainly comprised of archers to watch the gatehouse to prevent those inside from attempting a breakout or harassing your forces with archery." Raze instructed further, his words coming quickly and his tone remaining curt. "Send everyone else to scour the castle for anything that be used to construct a lever strong enough to lift the gate and columns to support it once it is raised. Notify me as soon as it is open enough to support a man slipping under it."

"Understood sir." The soldier replied with a nod before turning and jogging off towards one of the doors that permitted access to the stairways that lead up to the battlements.

"Raze." A different voice called out from behind the barbarian's position.

"What?" Raze replied in an annoyed tone as he turned to see the form of another one of the Duchess' men approaching from the direction of the castle's courtyard.

"Queen Ekaterina commands your presence in the assembly chamber." The messenger stated flatly as he pointed back towards the main keep and stepped out of the barbarian's path. Raze have a nod of understanding and set off towards the location for his meeting, mentally suppressing an urge to chuckle as he mused over the man's words in his thoughts. 'So she's already dubbed herself 'queen' before the bodies of her little coup are even cold. This should be entertaining.'

* * *

Ekaterina's skin was fire, her tightly clenched fists shaking with anger as she paced a short tract of space atop the black marble and gold inlay that dominated the floor of the assembly chamber. She'd always known that Raze was rash and brutal in his execution of his duties and his opinions but this was far beyond being simply classified as his usual actions. He was a rabid dog that had outlived his usefulness and needed to be put down. Unfortunately it wasn't that simple. Despite the fact that he was clearly out of line, there was no denying that the barbarian was the best shot at tracking down Midna. Not that Midna truly mattered anymore herself, but she was seen departing with the Crown of fused shadows atop her head. The crown had to be recovered if Ekaterina's claim to the throne was to be seen as truly legitimate.

Of course while the tale that she and her lady in waiting had murdered the High Pontifex held enough water to have raised the alarm and give both her men and the Royal Guards that had survived Zant's coup reason to detain the young Queen, it would not hold up to any real scrutiny put it on by those that knew her or after an investigation of any length. Likewise while she could say that Ezekiel was under sort of spell or seduction of Midna's, it would still boil down to the fact that a heathen barbarian slew the supreme religious authority of the Pantheon among the Twili peoples. The citizens would demand Raze's head. Her personal bodyguard's fate was sealed regardless, but he could prove useful one final time.

However the new Queen would be a fool to think she was somehow immune from the murderous rampage that Raze appeared to be intent upon judging from recent events so she did take precaution prior to summoning the barbarian to her. Flanking the throne on the raised dias behind her were her two best equipped and well trained knights, while a pair of master archers were positioned at the corners of the observation balcony that jutted out from the wall ahead of her. If Raze did attempt to assassinate her as he did with the High Pontifex then he would find her a much more difficult target than an unarmed old man with only a fledgling monk for company. The lost of her best asset for tracking down Midna would be setback but if Raze attacked her then it would be obvious that he couldn't be controlled anymore.

Any further thoughts that Ekaterina intended to mull over were cut short as the massive door leading into assembly chamber swung open to reveal the imposing form of the barbarian, his black armor creating a stark contrast as he stepped into the room and was presented against its rare white marble walls. "You requested my presence?" He inquired in as relaxed a tone as his voice would muster, the expression on his maimed face appearing flippant. The new Queen did not acknowledge him verbally, instead presenting merely a slow nod as Raze descended the steps from the rear of the nobles' seating area to the main floor, his unnaturally light footfalls becoming completely soundless as his stride transitioned from the marble floor to the purple velvet rug that laid upon the steps. Ekaterina's arms remained at her sides, one of her fingers idly tapping against her thigh as the barbarian finished crossing the small distance to where she stood on the main floor. "Well, what is it?" He asked in a bored sounding tone as he came to a stop and crossed his arms across his chest casually.

"Idiot!" The new Queen screamed in a fury as she let her hand fly, the slap connecting with a painful sound against Raze's left cheek; the impact causing droplets of bloods from his still uncovered wound on his opposite cheek to splatter a few feet away on the outer edge of the floor's decorative inlay. "Do you realize what you've done? This was supposed to be a bloodless exchange of power! There were a thousand different ways this could've done with minimal or no loss of life, instead you murder the High Pontifex and plunge the castle into a full civil war!"

The barbarian's reaction was not at all what Ekaterina was expecting. Instead of scowling or even lunging at her, he blinked twice in surprise and then began to laugh of all things. The strange reaction to her striking and scolding him put the new Queen off-balance for a moment, her rage forgotten as confusion filled her mind. The effect was shorted live though, as the sound of his laughter quickly bringing back her anger full force. Raze was had either gone mad or was mocking her, quite possibly both. The new Queen brought her hand back again and let it fly, thinking to slap some sense into the crazed bodyguard.

Ekaterina's hand never found it's mark. Acting with reflexes much faster than anyone could of possibility reacted to, the barbarian stopped laughing and shot his hands out, one catching the wrist of the new Queen's striking hand and twisting it painfully behind her back while his other hand wrapped around her throat with enough force to be painful but not with enough pressure to actually crush her windpipe. An immediate thought forced its way into her mind, Raze could easily kill her in this manner but he didn't. He was intentionally holding back. Madmen don't bother holding back. Men with plans do. The implications of that thought immediately sent her into a panic.

"Don't move!" Raze commanded, looking past Ekaterina to the pair of knights near the throne. "If either of you move for your swords," a wicked looking smile crossed his face as he jerked his head behind him. "Or if I so much as hear the tightening of bow strings from the balcony I'll crush her throat." Satisfied that he had reminded the soldiers of the peril that their liege was end and how easily she could be dispatched, he lowered his gaze back to the new Queen and continued. "You 'civil' Twili never cease to amuse me, you plot and scheme but yet when it comes time to act you grow uncertain at the slightest bit of bloodshed. A new age is upon us my 'dear' Ekaterina and it would not wait forever for you to put your little plots into motion. I merely accelerated the opening moves of the game. Now then, it's time for you to choose. Are you going to enjoy a position of power in this new age and all the privileges that come with it?" The barbarian allowed a long pause to sink into the conversation, the silence serving to only further amplify the feeling of tension that hung heavily in the air of the assembly chamber. "Or," He began again, the first syllable as startling as an unexpected thunderclap, "you can be just another body upon the pyres."

"Now then," He continued, his tone suddenly sounding inappropriately cordial. "I'm going off to find and kill Midna. Make your decision before I get back." Without any further words, he suddenly released Ekaterina; the woman collapsing to her knees and staring at the departing form of Raze. She heard the guards behind her begin to rush forward, though the barbarian made no move to react to the knights closing to no doubt attempt to kill him. Though before they had even made it off of the dias that was home of the throne of the Twili Kingdom, the new Queen shot her hand out indicating them to hold fast; the action allowing Raze to depart the assembly chamber in peace.

Ekaterina was shaking again, though its source was not anger this time. It was fear. The way the barbarian acted was unnerving to her. He had likened the events that had happened and that he believed would happen to a game. Mentally using that same metaphor, the woman kneeling helpless on the main floor of the assembly chamber of the Twili Kingdom felt a chill run down her spine as she was struck with the realization that Raze must possess several pieces on the board that were hidden from sight. Even more disturbingly to Ekaterina was the unshakeable notion after the way the barbarian acted that she wasn't even one of the players.


	11. Chapter 11

Glimpses of the scorching mid-day sun were filtering down through the gently swaying branches of the trees above, light dancing through gaps between verdant leaves as they shifted with the winds. The light that penetrated through the forest's canopy in this manner gave objects a flickering effect as any given point on the surrounding forest alternated between being illuminated and being plunged into shadow. However there were a pair of objects within the timberland that this effect was greatly amplified on. Epona moved through the shifting sea of sunbeams at a canter that was causing a fair amount of dust to be kicked up in her wake, the motes of dirt hanging in the air making the dancing rays of light even more apparent. In the rapidly moving mare's saddle sat an intense looking Link, the hero's brow furrowed in thought, though the position of his body showed that he was fully aware of the pace the horse was setting as he leaned forward in the saddle and held a tight grip on the reins.

He didn't normally set a harsh pace for Epona, preferring to conserve the horse's energy for when the situation truly required it, but there were times such as this when the animal seemed to sense the importance of a situation and moved herself into a rapid pace. Already on the return from Hyrule Castle the mare had broken out into extended bouts of a full gallop as they were crossing the plains that encircled the capital of the Kingdom of Hyrule. Though he had paid enough attention to Epona to keep from being thrown from her due to her erratic pace, most of the journey was spent deep in thought for the hero; Link had poured over his possible options for where to attempt to discover information about replacing the Mirror of Twilight. While there was no question that the greatest repository for knowledge was the Royal Library at the castle, Princess Zelda seemed to be devoting her time to that area so the hero decided that instead of looking over the shoulder of the young ruler for hours on end, he would do what he did best; he would track down alternate sources of knowledge that he had learned of during his travels to rid the Kingdom of its curse.

After some consideration Link had come to the conclusion that his best starting point would be with Shad, one of the members of the Resistance that had proven to be a great asset to him during his journeys. While the young scholar's years limited his knowledge, he did seem to have several unique insights and that was just what the hero needed at the moment. While it did seem to be a misuse of time to have just left the very area that Shad made his home, the fact of the matter was that Link easily foresaw his new quest becoming much more dangerous than sitting in libraries and listening to the lectures of sages. He felt naked enough as it was with solely having the Ordon Sword as armament with him at the moment. It was time to prepare.

Epona finally slowed to a trot and came to a sudden stop just as she broke into the clearing that held Link's converted home. As was usually the case, the village children had been playing in the same clearing though they had wisely cleared a path when they'd heard the mare approaching at a quick pace. The youths had even forwent their usual jovial greetings as they saw the expression on Link's face.

"Can one of you please have Ilia come?" The hero asked in tone that sounded more serious than he'd intended over his shoulder as he dismounted Epona, using the sleeve of his tan cotton shirt to wipe a layer of sweat and grime from his forehead.

"You got it!" Beth replied with a nod of her head as she turned quickly on her heels and took off at a dead sprint towards the village, her pale green dress flowing behind her as she ran.

"Hey wait up!" Colin said in a voice filled with surprise as he too darted off in the direction of the village. The remaining two children, brothers Talo and Malo, offered no words to Link; the former just standing in the clearing with a confused look on his face while the latter crossed his arms across his chest and shifted his jaw uncomfortably.

The hero paid the two siblings no further attention as he approached the doorway of his home, his inattention not born of malice but simply the product of his mind busying itself with reviewing to what to take with him. As he pushed the wooden door inwards and stepped inside, mentally finding some humor in the fact that the word 'everything' was the first thought that responded to his previous question concerning equipment but unfortunately that wasn't an option. Especially considering he wouldn't be taking Epona with him. The decision was painful both from a professional and personal standpoint but there was no way of knowing when he'd manage to break into the Twilight Realm, how long he might be indisposed there, or even if he'd be able to make it back. Though with as much as didn't like the thought of leaving the mare, the thought of leaving Ilia was worse. Of course still believed in his assessment from earlier that morning, that they were two different people now and couldn't be happy together, but that didn't mean actually leaving her would be pleasant.

"So this is it then?" The unusually authoritative voice of Malo called questioned, the query serving to break Link's stream of thoughts. The hero looked over his shoulder and saw the small form of the boy of 10 summers standing in the doorway to Link's home with an expression that looked deathly serious even for Malo on his face.

"Most likely." The hero replied as he returned his gaze forward and moved to a series of pegs that jutted out from the wall, the various components of the armor granted to him by the light spirit Ordona suspended from them.

"Plan on coming back at all?" The wise beyond his years youth asked.

"I don't know." Link replied after a short pause, his hand briefly faltering as he collected the clothing and armor from their resting place on the wooden wall. "To be honest I'm heading completely into the unknown."

"Take care of yourself." Malo offered in a solemn tone, the sound of boards lightly creaking as the youth turned to leave.

"Malo?" The hero called out as he turned around, his protective garments forgotten in his arms for the moment.

"Hm?" The boy grunted out as he stopped mid stride and looked over his shoulder.

"Make sure they all do right." Link requested, jerking his head towards the door to indicate the other village children.

"Wouldn't do any less." Malo replied, the rare sight of a warm smile crossing his face as he offered a slow nod. Without another word between the duo, the wise youth departed, pulling the door shut behind him and leaving the hero alone in the lower section of the watchtower that functioned as his home. Home. The word haunted Link's mind as he busied himself with stripping off his dirty clothes and changing into his battle garments. As his fingers automatically busied themselves with tying laces and fastening buckles, he dwelled on thought that this would be the last time he would see Ordon. The buildings themselves weren't important, it was the people he found himself regretting having to leave. He offered silent prayers to the Goddesses that the children would grow into wise, strong, and good men and women with unshakeable convictions. He prayed that the militia would take the defense of the village seriously and that Ordon would be spoken of in hushed tones by bandits. He prayed that the lands and livestock flourished, offering up a never ending bounty for its peoples. And he prayed for Ilia. He prayed above all that she find the happiness that Link was not able to provide for her.

By the time he had ceased his musings, the hero was surprised that he was already snugly encased the green tunic and chain mail that people so readily identified him in. Minus of course the skull cap that was burned in his battle with the spiders during his return of the Master Sword. His hand went to the side of his unbidden, his gauntlet encased fingers lightly brushing against the rough texture of the dark scab that had formed over the wound. He again found his thoughts wandering as his body seemed to function on reflex as he headed for the trap door that lead down into the cellar that functioned as his own private armory. He recalled how the spider had so nearly missed killing him in the tunnels and countless other times he'd nearly died on his prior journeys and was struck with a chilling new thought. Perhaps he wouldn't return to the village not because he would be trapped in the Twilight Realm or left endlessly searching for a way into it until he passed of old age; he could just as easily envision his broken corpse rotting away forgotten in the depths of a far off dungeon. His thoughts continued along that dark path until the vision of Midna's people being slaughtered was brought to the forefront of his mind.

No! He mentally chided himself in a firm voice that bubbled up from the depths of his mind. He would find a way into the Twilight Realm and he would deliver Midna from whatever ills had befallen her and her people. At the very least he would find a passage into his friend's world and sent word to Princess Zelda so that she and her forces could intervene. After that was accomplished he could drop dead on the spot for all he cared, but he would not be felled before that moment. He vowed that he would fight his way back from the very clutches of death itself if he passed away prior to achieving his goals.

As if a punctuation to his unspoken vow, the lantern that he'd kept in the basement burst to life, the flame atop its wick burning strongly and wildly flickering. The resulting firelight bathed the ad-hoc armory in brilliant luminescence, the dancing flame reflected back against the polished metal of various implements of battle that hung upon the racks; even the wooden portions of the weaponry seemed to appear unnaturally vibrant under the light projecting out of the lantern. Link blinked twice in surprise at the dramatic effect of the flame, having never remembered it burning so brightly; strangely he didn't even recall having put a match to it. He merely shrugged off the odd feeling though, his mind being quick to point out that he'd been so deep in thought that he couldn't remember the particulars of putting on the clothing and armor he wore or of descending into the basement; as for the lantern, the wick did seem rather low, the flame might simply have more oil to feed upon than usual.

The hero turned his attention to the equipment stretched out before him, his hands immediately going for his equipment harness; the heavy leather combination of belts, suspenders, and pouches still laden with the equipment from his return of the Master Sword, Ilia having been so distraught at the sight of his fresh wound that she refused to allow him time to properly store his gear. The next steps Link took consisted of him replenishing the medical, survival, and explosive supplies he'd expended on his last journey; though he did supply himself beyond their original amounts, stuffing each pouch as full as could be. He wouldn't be back for a while, it was no time for travelling light. Along that same series of thoughts he recovered his second clawshot from a rack on the wall, clipping the clockwork device to his belt alongside its twin. He took a moment to fill his quiver practically full to bursting as well before slinging it across his back then retrieving the nearby bow and situating that across his body as well.

As he finished finding a comfortable spot for the bow to ride on, a flicker of light at the far end of the basement caught his eye. Out of reflex, Link's gaze snapped in the direction of the sparkle of light, his eyes falling on an ornately decorated wooden case that was covered in a thick layer of dust. The hero's jaw tightened unconsciously as he stared at the container for a long moment before finally giving a slow nod to himself. 'It's time.' He told himself as he approached the box at a reverent pace. With the Master Sword returned and him having other plans for the Ordon Sword, he would need a blade regardless; what better one than the one that rested within the case? He gave a heavy exhale as his gauntleted hands fell on the metal clasps that held the box shut. After another moment of hesitation he unlatched the clasps and raised the lid with the faint sound of squealing metal and creaking wood.

Resting in the soft red velvet interior of the chest was a long sword that appeared so well crafted, it seemed as though it was the magnum opus of the blacksmith that forged it. The polished metal of its blade seemed to glow from the flickering light of the lantern illuminating the cellar. There were no engraved words or images garishly marring the surface of the blade, no needlessly pronounced fuller, no extraneous spurs or chips along its edge. It was not a parade ground sword, it was masterfully made to be sure, but it was masterfully made to be example of sword doing what it was meant to do, dispatch an opponent. Its crossguard looked simple enough, the metal appearing to be just a straight, square piece of metal; though as it neared its outer most portions, it did taper down into a rounded point. Its grip was completely covered in a single piece of hardened leather that was dyed a muted blue; the grip was home to the one oddity of the weapon, Hylian characters whose translation was unknown to Link having been burned into the leather with loving precision. It's pommel was just as beautifully simplistic as the remainder of the weapon, the undecorated metal formed into a shallow conical shape ending in a rounded point that mirrored the ends of the crossguard.

Despite the level of craftsmanship apparent on the entirety of the sword, Link's attention remained focused on the hilt since first opening the case. His mind was overwhelmed with the last time he saw the blade anywhere other than resting in the ornate chest. The image of the hilt swaying back and forth with the momentum of its last strike as its blood slick blade was lodged firmly in the chest of a prone bandit was burned into the mind of the hero. It was to be expected though, the slain marauder was the same that had murdered his father. Link ran his fingers across the surface of the characters burned into its grip as his mind remembered the times when he was a young boy and would ask his father after their meaning. 'Hold this end' He'd always stated in jest, the memory serving to bring a melancholy smile to the hero's features. He never did seek out the meaning of the symbols after the death of his father and the sword was subsequently returned to Link as a gift as he passed into manhood on his sixteenth summer by Mayor Bo. The hero didn't care if it was a map to the greatest treasure in the land, as far as he was concerned, the Hylian inscription would always read: 'Hold this end'.

Link retrieved the scabbard for the blade from its position within the case, the well crafted yet simplistic brown leather of the sword's resting place reflecting the same values of the weapon itself. The hero closed his fingers around the grip, the leather of his gauntlets and the leather of the sword's hilt creaking slightly at the action. He hefted the weapon free of its case in a reverent fashion, the blade causing a barely audible metallic reverberation to sound out in the confines of the basement. With a careful precision he lined the sword up with the scabbard and slid the blade into its resting place until a faint clack was heard as it became fully seated. Link affixed the weapon to himself in a fluid motion, a smile coming to his features as the weight of the weapon tugged lightly at his shoulder. Everything felt right, a sudden sense of inner piece washing over him as if he was now one step closer to his father.

He gingerly closed the lid to the chest that had held the sword, giving the carved wooden surface a loving pat and turning away, not bothering to relatch it; its treasure now resided across the hero's back. He retrieved his shield from its resting place, slipping his arms through its travelling straps and tightening them against his back in the same motion that he used to blow out the flame that had resided in the lantern. He ascended the ladder up to the main floor of his home with a renewed sense of purpose, quickly stepping free of the opening and lowering the trap door back into place. He strode swiftly across the room, scooping up the Ordon sword that he'd discarded upon changing garments and making for the doorway. His hand reached for the handle of the door and held his position for a moment, his grip on the door handle remaining in place while he slowly swept his gaze across the expanse of the converted watch tower. After a moment he offered a solemn nod to the structure, a final thanks given for everything before pulling the door open and stepping outside.

As his eyes quickly readjusted to the sunlight, he saw that a small crowd had apparently gathered in the clearing surrounding his home. As was expected, the village children had made themselves the front row in the crowd; Colin and Beth having returned in addition to Talo and Malo still being present. Not far behind the youngsters were Rusl and the other adults that had begun to take the militia training seriously since Link's return to the village. The final members of the gathered villagers were Ilia, the young woman quietly standing with her face down cast at the mouth of the path that lead away from Ordon, with her father, Mayor Bo, standing a respectful distance behind his daughter with an unreadable expression dominating his features.

The sight of the crowd had caught the hero off guard, his instincts telling him that he should say something though his mind seemingly unable to form the thoughts into words. His hesitation caused an uncomfortable silence to hang like a thick bank of fog over the assembled people for several moments, until the most unlikely of sources shattered the stillness.

"But who'll protect the village?" Colin asked, his voice audibly straining to not crack and the sheen of barely held tears apparent in his blue eyes. The boy of 12 summers took a half step forward as he spoke, the action causing Beth to reach out from her position at his side; the girl of only two summers Colin's senior putting a hand on his shoulder in a fashion that was a mix of matronly and spousal in nature, her own eyes now appearing on the verge of tears as the fair-haired boy spoke his question.

The simple question seemed to lift the block that had plagued Link's thoughts, a warm smile creeping onto his face as dropped down onto a knee in front of the youth. He brought the Ordon Sword up between the pair, resting the weapon on its point before he gently took hold of Colin's hand and wrapped it around the weapon's Scabbard. "You will." The hero intoned with a solemn nod. "You all will." He expounded as he rose to his feet once more and panned his gaze across the gathered villagers.

"But," Talo began, the dark haired boy of 12 summers faltering in his words. "We're not as strong as you." He finally managed to explain in a small voice, a blush of embarrassment coloring the cheeks of his downcast face.

"Yes you are." Link replied in a confident tone with a slow nod of his head. He reached out and gently guided the youth's face to make eye contact before continuing. "All you must do is work together. Trust and support one another, and you will possess a power that no one man can defeat."

"I will." Talo vowed, his voice taking on a stronger edge as the youth drew himself up to his full height once more. The hero offered a reassuring smile as he dropped his hand back to his side. Another moment of stillness settled over the gathering though it was short lived, Rusl stepping forward and breaking the silence.

"I heard that you needed something to keep your head warm." The retired soldier stated in a tone that sounded equal parts joy and sorrow, referring to the damage to Link's green cap. In his outstretched hand, Rusl held a barbute styled helmet; while the headgear certainly appeared well-used, it still seemed rather sturdy and sported a fresh looking coat of muted green paint that was nearly an exact match for the green tunic the hero wore.

"Thank you." Link stated, further words failing him as his he accepted the helm from Rusl and gazed down into the Y-shaped frontal opening.

"Just make sure you use it." The retired soldier insisted with a slight chuckle. "I look forward to trying to hearing your first hand accounts of your exploits through a drunken stupor as an old man." He added, his tone managing to sound both jovial and serious at once. The hero only nodded in response, looking up from the helmet and panning his gaze across the assembled villagers once more, silently wishing that another individual would speak up, preferably with a long speech. Link gave barely perceptible sigh after a long moment stretched out without a soul offering any additional words, his azure eyes falling on the figure of Ilia. It was time.

The walk to the young woman's position couldn't have been longer than five yards but it felt like leagues. In spite of all the perceived time at his disposal though, the hero couldn't think of anything that seemed like the correct thing to say. She finally brought her gaze up to meet his as he came to a stop within an arm's length of her, tears flowing freely from her green eyes. "I have to leave." Link stated, his mouth shifting into a frown as soon as he'd spoken the words.

"I won't be waiting for you when you come back." She replied with a slight shake of her head, her voice dripping with a self-assurance that was a testament to the amount of self-control that she had to be exerting at the moment.

"I know." He responded in a dejected tone with a small nod. A long moment of silence stretched between the pair before he spoke again. "I'm sorry." The regretful words were followed by yet another pause, the stillness making Link feel as if he was the only soul in the world and that there was nowhere he could hide to escape Ilia's morose gaze.

"You should be on your way." She finally said, nodding her head in the direction of where Epona dutifully stood.  
"I'm leaving Epona here." Link replied, turning his gaze on the mare; his expression of sadness further compounded as he spoke the words. "She's your horse after all." He added with a sigh.

"She hasn't been my horse since she laid eyes on you." Ilia returned, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth as she thought back on happier times. "If I keep her here she'll either just break out of the corral and go off to find you or just die of heartbreak."

"Ilia I..." Link started, his voice trailing off as his mind drew a blank on what to say and a lump formed in his throat. "I'll pray to the Goddesses every day that you find someone that can provide you with the happiness you so richly deserve." He finally stated after a long moment of struggling with what to say, deciding merely on informing her of what he'd already promised himself he would do. Out of habit he leaned in to kiss her, the action feeling extremely foolish as she pulled her head back and to the side slightly in a slow but determined motion. Link remained inches from her face for a short time before he gave a slight nod in silent agreement with Ilia's reaction, leaning in to instead deliver a chaste peck on her cheek. "Goodbye Ilia." He spoke in a mournful tone as he broke the kiss and leaned out. Ilia spoke no words in response, offering only a slow nod before closing her eyes and casting her face downwards once more.

It was at this time that hulking form of Mayor Bo stepped forward, the leader of the village stopping alongside his daughter and draping one of his powerful arms over Ilia's lithe shoulders. The bear of a man fixed Link with a stare that seemed to burn through him to the core, the gaze causing Link to brace for a verbal lashing, if not an outright physical attack. No words ever came though. There were no chiding tirades, no venomous threats, no decrees of banishment. The only response was in a solemn nod from Mayor Bo, his eyes seeming to soften in understanding as he did so; after that the large man focused all of his attention on his daughter, wrapping his other arm around her in a hug and planting a tender kiss on the crown of her head.

Link let his eyes linger on the pair a moment longer before shifting his gaze over the crowd a final time. With no further words or gestures he turned towards Epona, settling the helmet given to him by Rusl atop his head as he closed the distance to the mare. The hero made quick work of mounting the horse and setting her down the path that led away from the village, resisting the urge to put Epona into a full gallop in what he knew would be a vain attempt to escape the palpable aura of sorrow that seemed to be radiating off of Ilia. An aura that Link knew he was responsible for. Hidden in the confines of the muted green helm, a single tear rolled down the cheek of the Hero of Hyrule as he rode away from his home, Ordon Village.


	12. Chapter 12

An eerie stillness hung in the confines of the barn, it's foreboding calm largely due in part to the fact that the building was currently devoid of the animals it was designed to shelter. What little light was present within its confines filtered in through gaps around doors, the poor illumination provided by the dusk time skies of the Twilight Realm doing little to penetrate the inky shadows that filled the barn. The lighting was only briefly enhanced as a small side door was pushed inwards a distance of mere inches, the thin gap lasting only a heartbeat before the portal was swiftly pushed in further, a dark figure bolting through the opening and into the shadowy confines of the structure. Despite the new arrival, an oppressive silence continued to hang over the interior of the barn; the sole sign of the building possessing any occupants coming in the form of an unseen object that would occasionally blot out one of the shafts of weak light entering the building for the briefest of moments. After several moments had passed the side entrance again parted, a feminine yet well toned bare, ashen colored arm snaking through the opening and making a beckoning gesture outside the barn.

"It is safe my Queen." Jezebelle called out in a soothing yet hushed tone. "Please make haste." Almost immediately after the lithe guardian gave word that the structure was secure, she pulled the door further ajar to permit the entrance of Queen Midna. Even in the dim light, the young queen appeared haggard. The once pristine black silk of her dress was caked in thick layers of mud, dirt, and sweat stains. Her long locks of fiery red hair were matted down against her head in an extremely dishevelled manner. Her ember-like eyes expressed a tiredness that seemed to penetrate down to her very core. Most disconcerting though were the recent wounds still on ghastly display.

The opening bored through her left hand was hidden from immediately sight by a swath of dark brown linen cloth that sported a thick layer of dried blood; the material that previously had served as a sleeve on Jezebelle's shirt having been tightly wrapped from Midna's fingers to well above her wrist. Additionally the young queen's injured hand was pinned in place against the opposite collar bone by another wide strip of muted brown fabric that was also once a sleeve for her guardian. The arrow that had lodged itself in the back of her right shoulder still jutted out from her skin though a mere few inches were all that remained exposed, Jezebelle having carefully used one of her kukris to hack off the majority of the projectile's wooden shaft. While the material of her dress surrounding the wound did sport a thin trail of dried blood, the point of impact had not been bandaged itself; the lithe guardian explaining as they'd hid in a small gully at the base of the summit that the Twilight Palace was perched atop that the wound wouldn't bleed overly much and that they should take as little time as possible stopping so close to the castle.  
"This way my Queen." Jezebelle implored, placing a hand in the small of Midna's back to guide her through the shadowy interior of the barn. The young queen slowly made her way forward, surprised that the lithe guardian could make out anything within the inky darkness that seemed to swallow everything within the structure. In fact it seemed that the sole sense that Midna thought was functioning at all was one that she wished was wasn't. Her nose was assaulted with the putrid stench of both fresh and stale livestock waste, the shuttered barn offering no opportunity for fresh air to circulate through the building. A small, tired smile did tug at the corner of her mouth for the briefest moment though as a part of her thoughts reminded herself that she likely didn't smell like a garden in full bloom at the moment either.

"Please sit my Queen." Jezebelle requested, placing her hands on Midna's hips and gently guiding her down until the young queen felt her backside come to rest against a squat, rough wooden stool. "Please wait here for a moment my Queen, I must gather a few supplies I discovered while searching the barn." The lithe guardian responded, disappearing further into the shadows of the structure after Midna had replied with an indistinct noise of agreement. The young queen strained to make out what Jezebelle was doing in the darkness but other than a few slight noises of rustling fabric and objects occasionally blocking streams of light, Midna couldn't wrap her mind around what the lithe guardian was up to. The young queen did not grow suspicious at Jezebelle's unknown actions however, she had enough sense to realize that she would be dead or in a dungeon by now if not for the actions of the lithe guardian. She closed her eyes and offered a silent prayer to her deceased parents for secretly inserting a protector as capable as Jezebelle into her life.

There was a slight moment of panic in Midna's mind when upon opening her eyes, she realized that now there literally was nothing visible at all in the blackness surround her. Though before her thoughts ran too wild, there was a faint creaking noise an instant before a small flame sparked to life then grew quickly in intensity as the fire from the match spread to the wick in the lantern that the lithe guardian held aloft. The young queen squinted her eyes against the unexpected light source for a brief moment before her sight adjusted to the new brightness of her surroundings, allowing her to get her visual bearings for the first time since entering the barn. The duo appeared to be backed into a stall for a large animal, perhaps a horse or dairy cattle, the light from the lantern unable to escape the immediate area thanks to horse blankets that Jezebelle had draped all around the stall. Midna was indeed perched on a crude short stool, a concession that she was thankful to have as the stall appeared to have seen recent use as relatively fresh droppings were present in the enclosed area.

"I apologize for the accommodations my Queen." The lithe guardian stated in a regretful tone with a slight bow of her head.

"No apologies are needed." Midna replied in as warm a tone as she could muster, an attempt to add a smile to her response not coming to fruition. "You have kept us alive in spite of all attempts to make us otherwise. If we must sleep in refuse for you to continue with that successful strategy, I do not balk at it for a moment."

"Thank you my Queen." Jezebelle stated humbly, bringing her face back up to meet the young queen's gaze. The action caused a lump to form in Midna's throat and a concerned gasp to escape her lips as she realized that only one of her guardian's golden eyes stared back at her, the other eye tightly shut.

"You're wounded!" Midna exclaimed in a concerned voice, instinctively lifting her right arm up to reach out for Jezebelle and instantly regretting the action as the movement caused an intense pain to flare up at the site of her arrow impact.

"No, I am fine my Queen." The lithe guardian responded, her hand shooting out in the blink an eye to prevent the young queen from attempting to lift her arm any higher. "It is simply an old hunter's trick. You keep one eye shut if you expect to have to traverse between lit and darkened areas. The eye you keep shut will then see more effectively in darkness when you enter the shadows and open it."

"Sounds as though you have much to teach me if we are to be fugitives in our own Kingdom for a time." Midna stated, again trying to manifest a warm smile but the attempt failing to overpower the wince still present on her face from the most recent stab of pain from her injuries. "Though, I don't understand why you would need to do that now. We are resting here for the night are we not?"

"I fear that is not the case my Queen." Jezebelle replied with a twinge of sadness creeping into her tone. "We must ultimately keep moving. We are merely stopping here to dress your wounds properly and to attempt to scavenge water, food, and, Pantheon willing, fresh clothes and a beast of burden, preferably horses."

"Oh." The young queen simply responded in a surprised tone, again finding herself mentally unprepared for what entailed a flight from a coup; the weight of the world again feeling heavy on her shoulders. She mentally chided herself as her thoughts began to turn dark again, reminding herself that her guardian was seeing to their continued safety and freedom; that the sole thing that she had to do was merely comply with Jezebelle's requests. In fact, she told herself, she should start pulling her own weight and attempting to aid her guardian how ever she was able. "What can I do to help?" Midna asked, nodding at the signs of recent use of the stall before continuing. "I assume this place must be inhabited, perhaps I can appeal to its owners for aid in putting down this coup."

"Thank you my Queen, but with respect I personally feel that is a course of action which could breed disaster." Jezebelle stated in a diplomatic tone, her voice and her downcast gaze making it apparent that she still felt some level of discomfort in going against the young queen's wishes now that the duo were out of immediate danger. "It is very likely that we can be tracked with little trouble to this location." the lithe guardian explained. "When Ekaterina's hunters arrive here they will no doubt question the land owners and any laborers. I would rather them not be aware of your presence my Queen. If they are bribed or, Pantheon forbid, tortured then they could reveal information about your health, our attire, or our direction of travel upon departing. Such things would only give any enemies tracking us further advantages my Queen."

"As I said," Midna replied, drawing deep from willpower to force a warm smile to her face, pain and fatigue be damned. "There is much you must teach me."

"Thank you my Queen." The lithe guardian responded humbly, deeply bowing her head and placing her hand over her heart. "I will return as soon as I am able." She stated as adjusted the wick on the lantern before placing it within arm's reach of the young queen. "Though if I do not return before the lantern burns itself out, flee."

"To where?" Midna asked, a slight tinge of fear creeping into her voice as the gravity of the situation again fell on her full force.

"Where ever you feel you would be safe my Queen." Jezebelle replied in a tone that sounded heavily of a failed attempt at reassurances. "Are you familiar with where we are now?"

"Yes." The young queen answered, the concern now obvious on her face. "But where were you planning on leading us? Surely if you feel as though it is safe then it must be."

"I shouldn't tell you my Queen." The lithe guardian said, her jaw tightening as she continued. "Should something happen then you would, in all likelihood, continue on to that destination. If I am captured alive and broken..." Jezebelle trailed off, quickly swallowing back a lump in her throat. Midna offered no verbal response to the scenario her guardian had laid out, instead merely giving a nod of reluctant agreement. "Also my Queen," The lithe guardian explained in a tone that still carried a deathly serious weight to it. "I will announce myself prior to entering back into our hideaway here." As she continued she unsheathed one of her two kukris and laid it across Midna's lap. "If you see any of the blankets move to open and I have not announced myself, then you must make ready to defend yourself my Queen." A brief silence hung between the two after Jezebelle had given her instructions though it was quickly broke as the lithe guardian turned to exit the makeshift tent.

"I will see you again Jezebelle." The young queen intoned confidently, again fighting against her discomfort and exhaustion to give her statement the weight she felt it deserved.

"Pantheon willing my Queen." Jezebelle replied with a solemn nod and a warm smile before she silently slipped out into the darkness beyond the covered stall, leaving the wounded Midna alone with her thoughts.

The eerie silence of the barn seemed even more tomb-like to the young queen now that she knew she was alone; the faint sound of wind whistling through gaps in the structure's wooden frame providing the only noise beyond the confines of the hideaway. Though to be honest with herself, the rapid beating of her heart pounding in her ears could very well be masking a great deal of auditory cues. She found her gaze darting quickly at the various horse blankets that functioned as the walls for the makeshift tent, intently watching them for the slightest shift in position. She'd also considered taking hold of the blade that Jezebelle had left but managed to keep her apprehension about the situation in check enough that she reminded herself of the pain that would invariably shoot through her arm the moment she lifted it. Midna rationalized that if someone did indeed burst into the enclosure that act alone would ramp up her adrenaline so high that she wouldn't even feel the pain of grasping the kukri, to say nothing of effectively engaging in combat with it.

The young queen wasn't sure how long she sat in the flickering light radiating from the lantern, her mind consumed with the fear that at any second Ekaterina's barbarian would burst through the blankets with a fierce war cry and promptly lop Midna's head from her shoulders. After a time though, she'd finally gathered enough willpower to convince herself that if she was killed, then there wouldn't be anything further she need to worry herself with. Which caused that thought to be immediately followed with a new question, what would she do if Jezebelle did not return before the flames in the lantern died but if she herself yet lived and remained hidden? The only people in the Twilight Realm other than her guardian that the young queen had truly trusted had been her parents and Ezekiel. Midna forced her thoughts ahead in an attempt to not dwell on the loss of the King, Queen, and High Pontifex; she searched her memories for any occurrence that she might have witnessed in her youth that would lead her to believe that a certain noble or group of citizens were worthy of trust.

Unfortunately her mental query yielded no instances that she could recall of an overheard conversation or comment in passing that might have revealed a possible haven for her. The realization that any attempt to make contact with either commoner or noble would be a roll of the die caused the young queen to mentally chide herself for her aloof and whimsical behavior prior to Zant's rebellion. Of course she'd paid enough attention to her tutors in statecraft to understand the way the realm was supposed to operate and a few generalizations about each of major nobles, but she was sorely lacking in knowing the true hearts of her people. After all, based upon what little she'd known, she would have never had expected Ekaterina to stage a coup; her's was a line renowned for their forthrightness and devotion to the betterment of the Twilight Kingdom. Though at least she knew a little of the nobles, the commoners were all but alien to her save the few servants in the castle that she interacted with on a regular basis.

A grim bit of amusement seeped into her mind as she realized that after all her adventures roaming the Light Realm with Link, she would have better odds of survival in that parallel world than in her own. The thought of her companion from Light Realm again raised a pang of regret within Midna for her destruction of the Mirror of Twilight, though the despair surrounding the action was not as crushing as it had been when her thoughts had turned to the issue in the past. After all, if the mirror was still functional, it would deliver any travellers with positive ties to the young queen directly into the heart of what was currently enemy held territory. For all the times she'd found herself wishing it was intact during her escape so that Link could appear and protect her from harm, she hadn't previously considered the factor that she had no way that she would've been able to deliver a message to the Light Realm that she required aid due to the nature of Ekaterina's betrayal. Other than truly miraculous timing or her companion already being in the Twilight Realm prior to the attack, the sole thing that an intact Mirror of Twilight would have realistically provided would have been an alternate escape route.

Though escaping through the mirror wouldn't have been without dangers, assassins could have still passed through and followed her trail; even in a twisted form, a trained killer would still no doubt find a way to dispatch their quarry. Of course there would have been one way to prevent that risk. She would've merely had to pass through the mirror into the Light Realm...and then shatter the portal. Strangely Midna suddenly found a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth as she asked herself if living in exile in the world that Link inhabited would truly be a bad thing.

"My Queen." The voice of Jezebelle called out in at a low volume, the sudden words giving the young queen a start as she was jolted out of her musings. "I am entering." She stated, slender fingers appearing at seam in the makeshift tent an instant before drew back horse blanket and slipped into the hideaway. The lithe guardian appeared no worse for wear as she came to squat beside Midna and hoisted a quilt off of her shoulder, the fabric having been used as a makeshift bag with considerable contents.

"You have no idea how good it is to see you again Jezebelle." The young queen stated with a sigh of relief, her pain and fatigue completely forgotten for a moment as a warm smile fully spread across her features. "I trust everything went well?"

"Indeed my Queen." Jezebelle answered with a confident nod. "I was able to find just about everything I feel would be of use to us." She indicated, motioning to the cache of provisions just before she began to brush aside matted hay from a portion of the ground and put her hands to work digging out a shallow hole in the dirt floor of the barn. Midna didn't not pursue further conversation with her guardian, instead she decided that she would make good on her previous statement to Jezebelle, the young queen focussing her attention on the actions of the well-trained protector in the event that one day might come where Jezebelle didn't return. The lithe guardian finished digging out a narrow pit that appeared to be sunken a foot into the ground, before she quickly filled the hole about half its depth; a series of short but thick sticks were stacked at the bottom, the dense pile of wood then topped off with a few handfuls of hay that were both piled atop the sticks and pushed into gaps between them. The small fire pit was then lit, Jezebelle putting a few straws of hay to the wick of the lantern and dropping them into freshly dug hole.

The lithe guardian quickly set about her next task, retrieving a small iron saucepan from the pile of recently acquired supplies and settling it over the now strongly burning fire, though taking care to leave a sliver of the pit uncovered. Once the cooking pot was settled, Jezebelle's hands sifted through the provisions until they closed around one of several bloated waterskins; the lithe guardian swiftly emptying its contents into the iron saucepan. With the container now devoid of its liquid, she discarded it as she retrieved her unsheathed kukri from Midna's lap; the weapon quickly put to work slicing a bed sheet into narrow strips. The blade made quick work of the well worn linen, the lithe guardian returning it to its resting place on her thigh in the same motion that she retrieved an unmarked bottle from the cache of supplies.

In almost the same instant that Jezebelle freed the cork sealing the container, a very strong aroma of alcohol filled the air in the hideaway. "I know this will be unpleasant, but you need to drink as much of this as you can my Queen." The lithe guardian instructed in an apologetic though firm voice as she brought the bottle towards the young queen's lips, the now overpowering scent of grain alcohol filling Midna's nostrils and forcing an expression of repulsion onto her face. The young queen nodded reluctantly and parted her lips, the response prompting Jezebelle to waste no time and pour a small amount of the liquid into Midna's mouth. The young queen nearly gagged from the bitterness and the burning sensation as the grain alcohol ran over her tongue and down her throat; she'd had some very potent wines in her time but how anyone could down any amount of what she'd just drank solely for the purpose of merriment was lost to her. Fortunately she resisted the urge to vomit, her look of disgust meeting the lithe guardian's gaze in a silent plea for mercy against having to down any more of the concoction for a few moments.

Midna swore there was something akin to humor in Jezebelle's golden eyes, though her protector's expression remained a mix of urgency and concern, and the lithe guardian thankfully did not immediately ask the young queen to take another swig of the liquid. Instead Jezebelle set the bottle down beside the worn wooden stool on which Midna sat and positioned herself behind the young queen, her fingers quickly moving to untie the series of small cords that joined the front and rear portion's of Midna's mud caked dress at the sleeves and shoulders. "Again my Queen, I know it is unpleasant but when you feel you are able to take another drink, please let me know." The lithe guardian requested, the question being answered in an unenthusiastic grunt from the young queen.

As the last of the thin strands of fabric holding the wide slit along the top of the once black in color silk dress together were loosened, the rear portion of the dress was gingerly pulled back by Jezebelle; the lithe guardian carefully pulling the fabric over the remainder of the arrow that jutted out from Midna's shoulder blade. Once the thin material cleared the broken wooden shaft of the projectile, Jezebelle let the material fall; the action causing only the young queen's upper back to be exposed, the rest of her dress held in place by the strips of cloth from the lithe guardian's sleeve that pinned Midna's wounded left hand to her chest. The young queen fought past the pain and stiffness in her body to crane her neck around to see the wound, a wince springing to life on her features both from the action and from the sight of the injury. While the very nature of a foreign object protruding from her own body was a chilling scene all in itself, the location where the arrow buried itself again her scapula sported a surprisingly small amount of blood, most of which appeared in the form of a dried trail of dark crimson crust that ran down her back.

"It is supposed to look like that?" Midna asked in a voice that had a slight twinge of fear to it, her question referring to what appeared unnatural even to the young queen; the flesh around the wound looked severely inflamed and there appeared to be a purplish discolouration around the wound.

"No." Jezebelle replied flatly, her tone deathly serious. "I think he might have coated the arrowhead in something."

"Something?" Midna shot out, the earlier apprehension in her voice rising to a point just shy of outright panic. "Such as what?"

"I'm not certain my Queen." The lithe guardian responded in a defeated voice, her eyes remaining fixed on the injury as she gave a slight shake of her head. "Forgive me my Queen but I am not as well versed in poisons. Ekaterina's bodyguard could've done anything to it, coated it in feces, the extract of a poisonous plant, venom from an animal, or even materials like quicksilver." She loosed a heavy sigh and raised her gaze to meet the young queen's eyes. "I had intended to get you to a physician in order to have the arrow removed my Queen. But in light of this I think I should try to remove the arrow and clean the wound as best I can."

"More liquor." Midna immediately requested, swallowing back a lump that had formed in her throat as her mind began to dread just how much pain Jezebelle's ministrations would cause to her. The lithe guardian gave a knowing nod as she retrieved the bottle of alcohol and brought it to the young queen's lips once more, tilting the vessel back to allow Midna a long swig. A small shutter went through the young queen's body as she once again fought the urge to regurgitate the spirit, the foul taste causing her to rapidly shake her head back and forth for a short moment.

"Let's get you turned with your back to the fire my Queen." Jezebelle instructed as she placed her hands on Midna's sides and assisted the young queen through the process of standing, shuffling around the stool to face the opposite direction, and then taking a seat once more. As Midna was returned to a sitting position again her guardian quickly moved back into the young queen's field of view, Jezebelle withdrawing one of her kukris from its sheath. "I will not lie my Queen." The lithe guardian stated in a solemn tone as she began using her weapon to cut a strip of leather from the bottom of her own bodice. "This will be very painful but please remember that we must remain hidden here for a short while longer. Hopefully between the liquor and biting down on this," She continued, holding up the freshly cut strip of leather as she sheathed her blade once more. "You will be able to keep from crying out overly much. Are you ready my Queen?"

"More liquor." Midna again requested, fear still evident in her voice. Jezebelle provided another draw from the bottle and the young queen again physically recoiled from the vile aftertaste of the grain alcohol. The lithe guardian started to take the bottle away but Midna shook her head and let out a deep exhale before speaking once more. "Again." She said in a tone that was quickly losing its edge of apprehension and taking on an air of determined confidence. The young queen thought she saw an approving gleam in her guardian's eyes as she offered up another swig of the liquor, Midna fighting through her body's reaction to void her stomach with slightly less effort as she swallowed more of the drink. "Once more." The young queen stated, her words taking on a slight slur as the fog of intoxication began to settle in on her thoughts. Jezebelle readily complied with the request, the alcohol passing into Midna's system with considerably less rejection this time. "Jezebelle," The young queen said with a sloppy nod but a voice that sounded more confident than any words Midna had spoken since having escaped from the Palace of Twilight. "Do what you must."

"Try to think of better times my Queen." The lithe guardian replied in a soothing tone before disappearing behind the young queen's back. Without instruction, the piece of leather that Jezebelle had previously cut from her own clothing was offered up in front of Midna's face, the young queen biting hard into the rough material and noticing that the previously dirty patch of cowhide didn't carry the added taste of mud, only a warmth and moisture. Almost as soon as Midna had bitten into the leather there was a feeling of a lukewarm liquid being poured on her ashen skin just above the arrow wound. The sensation was immediately followed by an intense stinging at the site of the injury, the young queen's teeth grinding against the cowhide as her undamaged right hand instinctively took hold of the wooden edge of the stool she was seated upon. It was then that the realization struck the young queen that all her guardian had done thus far was pour the grain alcohol on the wound. Her thoughts began to turn panicked as she anticipated the pain that would accompany the actual removal of the projectile and the cleaning the injury.

Midna quickly decided that once more Jezebelle had given her sagely council, the young queen forcing her mind to focus on something other than the discomfort that was to come. Before Midna could even put a conscious effort into the intention, the thought of Link filled her mind. She tried to remember a time when they were travelling together that didn't involve some sort of combat or other dangerous situation, but the mental search seemed to bare little fruit. Unwilling to let the thought of the light dweller go, the young queen put her imagination to work, her mind building a scene of what might have been. Midna walked at a leisurely pace along side Link, her arm locked in his as they wandered through the serene landscape of the gardens at the Twilight Palace; the pair exchanging pleasant small talk, the banter causing each to have a constant smile gracing their features.

The peaceful image did much to calm the young queen's thoughts, until she was ripped back to reality as cool metal was pressed against and then through her skin surrounding the injury on her shoulder blade. She felt streams of warm fluid trailing down her back as portions of skin were severed, the sensation causing a muffed grunt to sound out from behind the leather that was tightly clinched between her jaws. Trails of tears appeared at the corners of her eyes, Midna tasting their salt as they slid past her lips. The pain was threatening to consume the young queen's thoughts once more but she fought the urge to focus her attention on it, instead she forced the image of in her mind of herself and Link to remain both intact and her prime point of interest.

Midna registered a firm tug that was accompanied by more agonizing sensations of flesh being rended, the feeling followed by a gob of warm fluid ejecting itself from the wound. The yelp of pain and subsequent moan that followed on the heels of the new stimuli were again dampened by the makeshift gag; though the young queen was certain that the death grip she had the edge of the stool was bound to generate a loud noise in the form either her fingers or the wood breaking under the strain. Once again Midna resisted the desire to allow her to dwell on the discomfort that accompanied her guardian's attempt to heal her. She forced her mind to populate the finer details to the mental image she'd created; the flowers were in full bloom, their colorful petals pleasing the eye while their fragrant scents filled one's nostrils.

The young queen's thoughts exploded with agony as something wet and scalding hot was quickly jammed into the void left behind by the removed arrow. The young queen tried to scream out but her mouth merely gaped open, her seemingly paralyzed vocal cords producing no sounds as the strip of leather fell from her mouth. She tried to instinctively jerk her body forward to escape the source of the pain but she immediately discovered that Jezebelle had wrapped a firm arm around her torso to keep her pinned in place. The burning object began to move within the empty space of the wound, the tender flesh of her now exposed muscles afire as the unknown device was roughly rotated in place. Darkness was clawing at the edge of her vision now, the blurry image of the world that her tear filled eyes presented to her were rapidly going out of focus. Midna fought to stay concious, her mind grasping at the imagined scene of herself and Link in the gardens, she attempted to focus on small details once more. As a black fog swept over what remained of her senses, the last thing she remembered was willing a wedding band into existence on her finger within the fantasy.


End file.
